Charlotte  temple 

Susanna  Haswel/  Rowson 


* 


by  Fr a v  cis  W.  Halsey 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
JOAQUIN  MILLER  COLLECTION 


A. 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE 

Two  VOLUMES  IN  ONE 


THE   CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE  TOMBSTONE   IN   TRINITY   CHURCHYARD 

(LOOKING  INTO   BROADWAY) 

From  a  recent  photograph 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE 

A   TALE   OF   TRUTH 


BY 
SUSANNA    HASWELL    ROWSON 


REPRINTED   FROM   THE   RARE   FIRST  AMERICAN 

EDITION  (1794),  OVER  TWELVE  HUNDRED  ERRORS 

IN    LATER    EDITIONS    BEING    CORRECTED,    AND 

THE  PREFACE  RESTORED 

WITH  AN  HISTORICAL  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION 
BIBLIOGRAPHY,  ETC. 


FRANCIS    W.   HALSEY 


FUNK    &    WAGNALLS    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

1905 


COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY 
FUNK    &    WAGNAW,S    COMPANY 

[Printed  in  the  United  States  of  A  merica]. 
Published,  November,  1905 


To 
MABEL   OSGOOD   WRIGHT 


WHY   THIS    EDITION 


SEVERAL  reasons  exist  for  undertaking 
a  new  edition  of  Mrs.  Rowson's  story. 
The  more  obvious  ones  may  be  indicated 
here: 

1.  Owing  to  frequent  reprints,  extend- 
ing over  more  than  a  century,  the  text 
has  become  so  corrupt  that  it  cries  aloud 
for  restoration  to  its  original  state.  Large 
and  small,  the  errors  in  the  best  current 
edition,   by   actual   count,   make   a   total 
of  1265. 

2.  There  has  been  need  of  a  brief  mem- 
oir of  Mrs.   Rowson  to  accompany  her 
story,  as  one  of  the  most  widely  read  of 
modern  books.     In  the  number  of  copies 
actually   printed   and   read   in   America, 
it  is  doubtful  if  any  work  of  fiction  has 
surpassed  this  little  "Tale  of  Truth." 

3.  Mrs.    Rowson  having   assured   her 
readers  that  the  story  was   founded  on 

vii 


tbis  Edition 


actual  occurrences,  some  of  which  were 
within  her  personal  knowledge,  all  the 
facts  in  the  case  known  or  ascertainable 
ought  to  be  made  accessible,  and  espe- 
cially all  that  is  known  of  Charlotte  as  a 
real  person. 

4.  A  detailed  statement  has  been  need- 
ed as  to  the  authenticity  of  the  tombstone 
in  Trinity  churchyard,   which,   for   four 
generations,  has  been  a  place  of  constant 
pilgrimage,  and  has  evoked  many  unaf- 
fected tears. 

5.  It    is    believed    that    in    no    edition 
heretofore  printed  have  readers  been  fur- 
nished with  an  outline  of  the  life  of  the 
English  army  officer  who  is  the  accepted 
original  of  Montraville. 

6.  In  the  matter  of  mere  book-making 
the   story   has   deserved   a   place   in   the 
company  of  standard  fiction  as  offered  in 
the  better  class  of  bookstores,   and  this 
it  seems  never  to  have  had  —  at  least  not 
since  the  earliest  years  in  its  history. 

7.  In   undertaking   to   meet   these   re-' 

viii 


tbis  Efcitton 


quirements,  it  is  clear  that  the  new  edition 
should  be  illustrated  from  authentic  ma- 
terial. 

8.  Inasmuch  as  the  best  list  heretofore 
printed  comprises  only  sixteen  editions  of 
the  work,  an  attempt  at  a  more  complete 
bibliography  seemed  to  be  called  for.     It 
has  resulted  in  a  list  of  one  hundred  and 
four,  but  with  many  editions  still  missing. 

9.  While  Joseph   Sabin   described  the 
book  as   "the  most  popular  romance  of 
its  generation,"  and  it  has  not  lacked  for 
popularity  in  any  of  the  three  generations 
that  have  elapsed  since  its  own,  we  shall 
search  in  vain  for  Charlotte's  name  in 
dictionaries  of  biography  and  in  lists  of 

noted  names  of  fiction. 

F.  W.  H. 

NEW  YORK,  August  25,  1905. 


IX 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

WHY  THIS  EDITION vii 

HISTORICAL  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION  .     xvii 

I  MRS.  ROWSON xix 

II  THE   BOOK xxix 

III  CHARLOTTE xxxviii 

IV  THE  TOMBSTONE xlix 

V  MONTRAVILLE Ixx 

VI  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  MONTRESOR  AND  MON- 

TRAVILLE         Ixxxiii 

VII  A  CONTRIBUTION  TO  A  BIBLIOGRAPHY     .     .     xci 

CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE 

VOLUME  I 
CHAPTER  PAGE 

THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 3 

I  A  BOARDING- SCHOOL 7 

II  DOMESTIC  CONCERNS 13 

III  UNEXPECTED  MISFORTUNES     .......      21 

IV  CHANGE  OF  FORTUNE 30 

V  SUCH  THINGS  ARE 40 

VI  AN  INTRIGUING  TEACHER 47 

VII  NATURAL  SENSE  OF  PROPRIETY  INHERENT  IN 

THE  FEMALE  BOSOM 55 

VIII  DOMESTIC  PLEASURES  PLANNED 63 

IX  WE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  A  DAY  MAY  BRING 

FORTH 71 

'X  WHEN  WE  HAVE  EXCITED  CURIOSITY  IT  Is 
BUT  AN  ACT  OF  GOOD  NATURE  TO  GRATI- 
FY IT  78 

xi 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

'XI  CONFLICT  OF  LOVE  AND  DUTY  .....      83 


Nature's  last,  best  gift: 

Creature   in   whom   excell'd   whatever  could 
To  sight  or  thought  be  named! 
Holy,  divine!  good,  amiable  and  sweet! 
How  thou  art  fall'n!  - 

XIII  CRUEL    DISAPPOINTMENT     ......      97 

XIV  MATERNAL  SORROW    ........     105 

XV  EMBARKATION       .........     112 

XVI  NECESSARY  DIGRESSION       ......     118 

XVII  A  WEDDING    ..........     125 

VOLUME  II 

XVIII  REFLECTIONS    ..........        3 

XIX  A  MISTAKE  DISCOVERED      ......       n 

XX      .............  -    .       19 

"  Virtue  never  appearsXso  amiable  as  when 
reaching  forth  her  hand  to  raise  a  fallen 
sister."  —  Chapter  of  Accidents. 

XXI     ..............      28 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see, 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

—  Pope. 

XXII  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART     ......       34 

XXIII  A  MAN  MAY  SMILE,  AND  SMILE  AND  BE 

A  VILLAIN    ..........      40 

XXIV  MYSTERY  DEVELOPED       .......      48 

XXV  RECEPTION  OF  A  LETTER     ......       58 

XXVI  WHAT  MIGHT  BE  EXPECTED     .....      63 


1  This  and  Chapters  XX.,  XXI.,  XXVII.,  and  XXX.  have  no 
captions  except  the  passages  quoted. 

xii 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII  70 

Pensive  she  mourn'd  and  hung  her  languid  head, 
Like  a  fair  lily  overcharg'd  with  dew. 

XXVIII  A  TRIFLING  RETROSPECT 80 

XXIX  WE  Go  FORWARD  AGAIN 87 

XXX        94 

And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  and  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep. 

— Goldsmith. 

XXXI  SUBJECT  CONTINUED 101 

XXXII  REASONS  WHY  AND  WHEREFORE    .     .     .  107 

XXXIII  WHICH   PEOPLE  VOID  OF   FEELING   NEED 
NOT  READ 113 

XXXIV  RETRIBUTION 122 

XXXV  CONCLUSION 128 

INDEX 133 


Xlll 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING    PAGE 

1.  The  Charlotte  Temple  Tombstone  in  Trin- 

ity Churchyard   .     .     .     Frontispiece. 

Looking  into  Broadway.     From  a  recent 
photograph. 

2.  Susanna  Haswell  Rowson xviii 

From  a  miniature  still  owned  in  the  family. 

3.  Memorial  to  Mrs.  Rowson  in  Forest  Hill 

Cemetery,  Roxbury,  Mass    ....     xxvi 
From  a  recent  photograph. 

4.  Sensational     Cover-Title     of     "  Charlotte 

Temple,"  with  a  So-Called  Authentic 
Portrait         xxxiv 

From  the  condensed  edition  published  in 
Philadelphia  in  1865. 

5.  Another    So-Called    Portrait   of    Charlotte 

Temple          xxxvi 

From  an  advertising  poster  for  a  sensational 
story-paper  published  in  New  York  about 
1870. 

6.  Title-Page  of  the  First  American  Edition, 

1794 xxxviii 

From  a  copy  of  the  book  owned  by  Mabel 
Osgood  Wright. 

7.  Charlotte's  Home  in  New  York,  as  Shown 

on  the  Ratzen  Map  of   1767    .     .     .     xlvi 

From  a  copy  of  the  original  map  in  the 
Lenox  Library. 

8.  Part  of  Colonel  John  Montresor's  Map  of 

New  York  in   1775 xlvi 

From  a  copy  in  the  Lenox  Library. 

XV 


%ist  of  fl  (lustrations 


FACING    PAGE 

9.  "The  Old  Tree  House" xlviii 

Present  building  of  that  name  on  the  later 
site  of  the  original  "  Old  Tree  House,"  in 
which  Charlotte  lived,  at  the  Bowery  and 
Pell  Street.  From  a  recent  photograph. 

10.  Trinity  Church  after  the  Fire  of  1776    .      .     1 

From  a  sketch  by  Thomas  Barrow,  repro- 
duced from  Valentine's  Manual  for  1861. 

11.  Portrait  of  Colonel  James  G.  Montresor     .     Ixx 

From  the  original  in  oil,  as  reproduced  in 
the  New  York  Historical  Society's  Collec- 
tions for  i 88 i. 

12.  Portrait  of  Colonel  John  Montresor    .     .     Ixxii 

From  a  portrait  in  oil  by  Copley,  as  repro- 
duced in  the  New  York  Historical  Society's 
Collections  for  1881. 

13.  Charlotte  and  Montraville  Arriving  at  Ports- 

mouth       Vol.1     114 

Frontispiece  to  an  edition  of  1829. 

14.  View  of  New  York  from  the  Harbor  in  1775. 

Vol.1     126 

From  a  print  in  the  Emmet  Collection  in 
the  Lenox  Library. 

15  Trinity    Church    at    the    Time    of    Charlotte's 

Death Vol.11     124 

From  an  old  print. 

16.  Montraville  at  Charlotte's  Funeral    .      .  Vol.  II     126 

From  a  woodcut  in  the  sensational  Philadel- 
phia edition  of  1865. 

17  Charlotte's  Tombstone Vol.  II     128 

From  an  old  woodcut  (about  1850)  in  the 
Lenox  Library. 


XVI 


HISTORICAL  AND   BIOGRAPHICAL 
INTRODUCTION 


XVll 


INTRODUCTION 


MRS.  ROWSON 

SUSANNA  HASWELL  ROWSON,  the  au- 
thor of  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  was  born  in 
Portsmouth,  England,  in  1761.  Her  fa- 
ther was  William  Haswell,  a  lieutenant  in 
the  Royal  Navy,  and  her  mother  Susanna 
Musgrave.  In  1769  she  came  to  America 
with  her  father,  who  settled  at  Nantasket, 
in  Massachusetts,  and  remained  here  until 
1777.  She  wrote,  nearly  twenty  years 
afterward,  in  an  introduction  to  one  of  her 
books : * 

"  It  was  my  fate,  at  a  period  when  memory 
can  scarcely  retain  the  smallest  trace  of  the 
occurrence,  to  accompany  my  father  to  Bos- 
ton, in  New  England,  where  he  had  married  a 

1  "  Trials  of  the  Human  Heart,"  Philadelphia  (4  vols.), 
1795- 

xix 


Untrofcuctton 

second  wife,  my  mother  having  lost  her  life  in 
giving  me  existence.  Blessed  with  a  genteel 
competency,  and  placed  by  his  rank  and  edu- 
cation in  that  sphere  of  life  where  the  polite 
and  friendly  attentions  of  the  most  respectable 
characters  courted  our  acceptance,  and  enjoy- 
ing a  constant  intercourse  with  the  families 
of  the  officers  of  the  British  Army  stationed 
there,  eight  years  of  my  life  glided  almost 
imperceptibly  away." 

Her  education  was  carefully  supervised 
during  her  stay  in  Nantasket.  She  is  said 
to  have  attracted  the  notice  of  James  Otis, 
the  orator  and  statesman,  who  called  her 
"my  little  scholar,"  and  endeavored  to 
inculcate  in  her  mind  his  own  political 
sentiments,  but  whatever  success  he  may 
have  had  with  the  daughter  did  not  ex- 
tend to  the  father.  She  adds: 

"  At  that  time  the  dissensions  between  Eng- 
land and  America  increased  to  an  alarming 
degree.  My  father  bore  the  King's  commis- 
sion ;  he  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance.  Cer- 
tain I  am  that  no  one  who  considers  the  nature 
of  an  oath  voluntarily  taken,  no  one  who  reflects 

xx 


SUSANNA  HASWELL  ROWSON 
From  a  miniature  still  owned  in  the  family 


dbrs.  IRowson 

that,  previous  to  this  period,  he  had  served 
thirty  years  under  the  British  Government, 
will  blame  him  for  strict  adherence  to  princi- 
ples which  were  interwoven,  as  it  were,  into 
his  existence.  He  did  adhere  to  them.  The 
attendant  consequences  may  readily  be  sup- 
posed. His  person  was  confined;  his  property 
confiscated.  Having  been  detained  as  a  pris- 
oner two  years  and  a  half,  part  of  which  was 
spent  in  Hingham  and  part  in  Abington,  an 
exchange  of  prisoners  taking  place  between 
the  British  and  American,  my  father  and  his 
family  were  sent  by  cartel  to  Halifax,  from 
which  we  embarked  for  England." 

A  few  years  after  her  return  to  Eng- 
land she  began  to  support  herself.  At 
one  time  she  acted  as  a  governess  in  the 
family  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire.  She 
also  wrote  verses,  and  in  1786  published 
a  novel  called  "Victoria,"  the  characters 
in  which  she  described  as  having  been 
"taken  from  real  life."  To  assist  in  its 
publication,  subscriptions  were  secured, 
and  several  came  from  notable  persons, 
including  General  John  Burgoyne,  Mrs. 
xxi 


flntrofcuction 

Siddons,  Sir  Charles  Middleton,  and  Sam- 
uel Adams.  This  work,  the  only  one  that 
appeared  under  Mrs.  Rowson's  maiden 
name,  was  dedicated  to  the  Duchess  of 
Devonshire,  who  introduced  her  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  afterward  George  IV., 
through  whom  was  secured  a  pension  for 
her  father. 

In  the  same  year  she  was  married  to 
William  Rowson,  a  hardware  merchant, 
serving  as  trumpeter  in  the  Royal  Horse 
Guards.  Mr.  Rowson  soon  failed  in  busi- 
ness, in  consequence,  it  is  said,  of  losses 
through  a  partner  in  America.  She  and 
he,  as  well  as  her  husband's  sister,  then 
decided  to  go  on  the  stage.1  They  made 
their  first  appearance  in  Edinburgh  in  the 
winter  of  1792-3,  and  afterward  acted  in 
several  other  British  towns.  Meanwhile 


1The  Rowson  family  appears  to  have  included  at 
least  one  other  actress.  In  the  Gentleman's  Magazine 
for  October,  1790,  among  the  obituary  notices,  may  be 
read  the  following:  "Of  a  billious  fever,  Miss  Rowson, 
of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  a  beautiful  and  interesting 
girl,  on  whose  character,  notwithstanding  the  blandish- 
ments of  her  situation,  suspicion  had  never  breathed." 

xxii 


flbrs,  TRowson 

she  continued  to  write  books.  "  Victoria  " 
was  followed  by  a  story  called  "  Mary ;  or, 
The  Test  of  Honor,"  and  then  came  in 
succession  "The  Inquisitor;  or,  Invisible 
Rambler,"  a  work  in  three  volumes,  mod- 
eled on  Sterne's  "  Sentimental  Journey," 
1788*  (republished  in  Philadelphia  in 
1794);  "Poems  on  Various  Subjects/' 
1788;  "A  Trip  to  Parnassus";  "A 
Critique  on  Authors  and  Performers"; 
"  Mentoria,"  being  views  on  education, 
1791 ;" Charlotte;  a  Tale  of  Truth "  (such 
was  the  original  title  of  "Charlotte  Tem- 
ple," the  "Temple"  being  omitted),  two 
volumes,  1790,  which  within  a  few  years 
reached  a  sale  of  twenty-five  thousand 
copies ;  and  "  Rebecca ;  or,  the  Fille  de 
Chambre,"  an  autobiographical  novel, 
1792,  of  which  a  revised  edition  was  pub- 
lished in  this  country  in  1814. 

In  1793  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rowson  entered 
into  a  contract  to  come  to  America  and  act 
in  the  Chestnut  Street  Theater  in  Phila- 
delphia .  When  they  arrived  yellow  fever 
xxiii 


Untrofcuctfon 

was  prevalent  in  that  city,  and  the  com- 
pany for  a  time  acted  in  Annapolis  in- 
stead. For  three  years  Mrs.  Rowson  con- 
tinued her  life  here  as  an  actress,  appear- 
ing mainly  in  Philadelphia,  Baltimore, 
and  Boston.  Coming  to  New  York,  she 
viewed  the  grave  of  the  unfortunate  Char- 
lotte, and  went  to  the  house  in  which  she 
died.  Among  the  characters  which  she 
represented  on  the  stage  were  Lady  Sneer- 
well  in  "The  School  for  Scandal,"  and 
Dame  Quickley  in  "  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor."  She  wrote  several  plays, 
among  them  "A  Female  Patriot,"  1794; 
"Slaves  in  Algiers,"  1794;  "Americans 
in  England"  and  "The  Volunteers,"  1793. 
The  latter  was  a  farce  founded  on  the 
whisky  insurrection  in  western  Penn- 
sylvania. 

In  1794  appeared  the  first  American 
edition  of  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  which  was 
still  called  "  Charlotte."  William  Cobbett 
( the  once  famous  "  Peter  Porcupine  "  ) 
printed  a  rather  brutal  attack  upon  her 


XXIV 


/IDrs,  IRowson 

__^__ 

writings  at  this  time,  entitled  "A  Kick  for 
a  Bite,"  in  which  he  indelicately  said  that 
in  "Slaves  in  Algiers"  she  "had  ex- 
pressed sentiments  foreign  to  her  heart." 
She  replied  in  an  introduction  to  her  next 
book,  "  Trials  of  the  Human  Heart,"  de- 
scribed on  the  title-page  as  "by  Mrs.  Row- 
son  of  the  New  Theatre."  "The  literary 
world  is  infested,"  said  she,  "  with  a  kind 
of  loathsome  reptile,"  and  then  added  that 
"  one  of  them  lately  crawled  over  the  vol- 
umes which  I  have  had  the  temerity  to 
submit  to  the  public  eye."  "  Trials  of  the 
Human  Heart,"  in  four  volumes,  1795, 
was  her  most  ambitious  literary  under- 
taking, but  it  had  only  a  moderate  success. 
Prominent  persons,  including  Martha 
Washington  and  Benjamin  Franklin, 
were  among  the  subscribers  for  it.  It 
was  followed  in  Baltimore  in  the  same 
year  by  "The  Standard  of  Liberty,"  be- 
ing a  patriotic  address  to  the  armies  of 
the  United  States. 

Abandoning  the  stage  in  1796,  her  last 


XXV 


•ffntrotwctton 



appearance  being  made  in  Boston,  Mrs. 
Rowson  settled  in  Massachusetts.  She 
taught  for  a  time  in  Medford  and  Newton, 
and  finally  went  to  Boston,  where  for  the 
remainder  of  her  life  she  maintained  a 
school  in  which  were  educated  the  chil- 
dren of  many  cultured  families.  Her  ex- 
perience as  a  teacher  embraced  twenty- 
five  years.  During  this  period  she  edited 
(1802-5)  the  Boston  Weekly  Magazine, 
wrote  for  several  other  periodicals,  and 
published  the  following  books :  "  Reuben 
and  Rachel;  or,  Tales  of  Old  Times/' 
1798;  "Miscellaneous  Poems/'  in  which 
appeared  original  verse,  including  a  song, 
"America,  Commerce,  and  Freedom," 
that  enjoyed  wide  popularity,  besides 
translations  from  Homer  and  Virgil, 
1804;  "A  System  of  Geography,"  1806; 
"A  Spelling  Dictionary,"  1807;  "Sarah, 
the  Exemplary  Wife,"  1813;  "A  Present 
for  Young  Ladies,"  being  a  compilation 
of  poems,  recitations,  and  dialogs,  1811; 
"  Exercises  in  History,"  1822 ;  and,  finally, 

xxvi 


MEMORIAL   TO   MRS.   ROWSON  IN   FOREST   HILL  CEMETERY, 

ROXBURY,   MASS. 
From  a  recent  photograph 


.  1Row0on 


"  Biblical  Dialogues  Between  a  Father 
and  His  Family,"  1822;  this  being  her 
last  work,  except  a  posthumous  one,  enti- 
tled "  Lucy  Temple,  Charlotte's  Daugh- 
ter," a  sequel  to  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  but 
much  inferior  to  it.  "  Lucy  Temple  "  con- 
tained a  brief  memoir  of  Mrs.  Rowson  by 
Samuel  L.  Knapp.  Many  of  these  books 
were  published  through  subscriptions  ob- 
tained in  advance,  and  the  names  of  the 
subscribers  were  printed  at  the  end  of 
each  book. 

Mrs.  Rowson  died  in  Boston,  Novem- 
ber 2,  1824,  and  was  buried  in  the  family 
vault  of  her  friend,  Gotlieb  Graupner,  in 
St.  Michael's  Church,  South  Boston.  A 
granite  monument  to  her  memory  was  in 
recent  years  set  up  in  a  family  lot  in 
Forest  Hill  Cemetery,  Roxbury,  by  her 
grandnieces  and  nephew,  Mary  and  Has- 
well  C.  Clark,  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Osgood, 
born  Ellen  Haswell  Murdock,  the  mother 
of  Mabel  Osgood  Wright,  who  designed 
the  stone.  Her  body  was  not  removed 
xxvii 


Introduction 

to  this  lot,  however,  inasmuch  as  identi- 
fication of  it  after  removal  from  St. 
Michael's  Church  had  become  impossible 
through  the  loss  of  a  coffin  plate.  In 
1859  the  Rev.  Elias  Nason  read  a  paper 
on  Mrs.  Rowson's  life  and  work  before 
the  New  England  Historical  and  Genea- 
logical Society,  and  in  1870  published  in 
Albany  a  more  extended  memoir  in  book 
form,  with  a  portrait. 


XXVlll 


II 

THE   BOOK 

OF  the  twenty-four  books  and  plays 
here  enumerated,  "  Charlotte  Temple " 
alone  has  survived.  But  what  a  survival 
that  has  been!  Its  early  success  in  Eng- 
land merely  foreshadowed  the  success  it 
was  destined  to  have  in  America,  with 
scarcely  an  interruption  down  to  the  pres- 
ent day — a  period  of  one  hundred  and  fif- 
teen years.  As  a  survival  among  books  of 
that  generation  it  is  probably  matched  in 
this  country  only  by  Franklin's  "  Autobi- 
ography," if  indeed  that  book  has  matched 
it.  Among  novels  it  had  no  rival  in  its 
own  day — not  even  " Evelina"  or  "The 
Children  of  the  Abby."  None  of  Scott's 
novels,  which  came  a  generation  later, 
could  have  had  so  wide  a  reading  here. 
Not  until  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  appeared 
xxix 


IFntrotwction 

did  an  American  work  of  fiction  dispute 
its  preeminence  in  point  of  circulation. 

Perhaps  even  now,  in  the  number  of 
copies  actually  printed  and  read,  "Char- 
lotte Temple"  has  not  been  exceeded  by 
Mrs.  Stowe's  work,  because,  being  not 
protected  by  copyright,  it  has  been  con- 
stantly issued  by  many  publishers  in  the 
cheapest  possible  forms  of  paper  as  well 
as  cloth.  The  editions  are  innumerable.  It 
has  been  published  in  London,  New  York, 
Philadelphia,  Boston,  and  several  of  the 
smaller  American  towns,  including  Ithaca, 
N.  Y.,  Windsor,  Vt.,  and  Concord,  N.  H. 
Some  of  the  early  editions  were  in  two 
volumes,  but  all  later  reprints  seem  to 
have  been  in  one,  tho  some  have  appeared 
in  the  form  of  two  volumes  bound  as  one. 
Several  have  had  a  frontispiece,  some  a 
vignette,  and  a  few  have  had  illustrations 
in  the  text,  but  recent  editions  have  com- 
monly had  no  illustrations  save  now  and 
then  a  frontispiece.  In  size  the  editions 
have  been  iSmos,  i6mos,  I2mos,  and 


XXX 


IBoofc 


8vos.  A  translation  has  been  made  into 
German,  and  a  play  based  on  the  story 
long  enjoyed  much  popularity. 

Duyckinck,  writing  in  1855,  said  the 
story  was  still  "a  popular  classic  at  the 
cheap  bookstalls  and  with  traveling 
chapmen."  Reprints  of  it  to  this  day  are 
offered  in  department  stores,  on  sidewalk 
bookstalls,  and  by  pushcart  dealers.  In 
the  little  stationery  stores  of  tenement  dis- 
tricts it  can  usually  be  found  on  shelves 
where  are  kept  some  hundreds  of  second- 
hand or  shop-worn  paper  covered  novels. 
The  shopkeeper  will  probably  say  he  keeps 
"Charlotte  Temple"  constantly  in  stock, 
and  that  it  is  one  of  his  best-selling  books. 
A  collector  in  New  York  many  years  ago 
had  secured  a  large  shelfful  of  various 
editions,  said  to  number  about  one  hun- 
dred. Mr.  Nason  did  not  exaggerate  the 
actual  facts  when  he  offered  up  the  fol- 
lowing tribute  to  the  popularity  of  this 
book: 


"  Cyclopedia  of  American  Literature." 
xxxi 


•ffntroouction 

"  It  has  stolen  its  way  alike  into  the  study 
of  the  divine  and  into  the  workshop  of  the  me- 
chanic; into  the  parlor  of  the  accomplished 
lady  and  the  bedchamber  of  her  waiting-maid ; 
into  the  log  hut  on  the  extreme  borders  of 
modern  civilization  and  into  the  forecastle  of 
the  whale  ship  on  the  lonely  ocean.  It  has  been 
read  by  the  gray-bearded  professor  after  his 
divine  Plato;  by  the  beardless  clerk  after  bal- 
ancing his  accounts  by  night;  by  the  traveler 
waiting  for  his  next  conveyance  at  the  village 
inn;  by  the  schoolgirl  stealthily  in  her  seat. 
It  has  beguiled  the  workman  in  his  hut  at 
night  in  the  deep  solitudes  of  the  forest;  it 
has  cheated  the  farmer's  son  of  many  an  hour, 
while  poring  over  its  fascinating  pages,  seated 
around  the  broken  spinning-wheel  in  the  old 
attic ;  it  has  drawn  tears  from  the  miner's  eyes 
in  the  dim  twilight  of  his  subterranean  galley ; 
it  has  unlocked  the  secret  sympathies  of  the 
veteran  soldier  in  his  tent  before  the  day  of 
battle." 

In  the  best  modern  editions  the  integ- 
rity of  the  text  has  been  better  preserved 
perhaps  than  the. circumstances,  carefully 
considered,  would  have  led  one  to  expect, 
but,  as  already  stated,  the  text  to-day  is 
xxxii 


ZTbe  Boofc 

extremely  corrupt.  Most  errors  in  these 
editions  were  due  to  the  carelessness  of 
printers,  since  they  seldom  suggest  the 
hand  of  an  indiscreet  editor  or  publisher. 
The  original  Preface  I  have  not  found  in 
any  available  edition  issued  since  1803. 
The  poetical  quotations  given  on  the  title- 
pages  are  also  missing  from  editions 
printed  since  the  very  early  one,  and 
changes  have  been  made  in  the  chapter- 
headings,  one  heading  having  been 
dropped  altogether. 

Once  errors  had  crept  into  the  text, 
it  can  be  understood  how  they  were  al- 
most inevitably  repeated  at  the  next  set- 
ting of  the  type.  With  each  resetting 
further  errors  would  be  made,  so  that  an 
edition  now  current  might  show  accumu- 
lations from  three,  or  possibly  four, 
generations  of  compositors.  So  formida- 
ble a  total  of  errors  (1265,  large  and 
small,  by  actual  count)  gives  further 
evidence  of  the  extraordinary  popularity 
of  Mrs.  Rowson's  little  book, 
xxxiii 


Untrofcuction 

In  one  edition  among  those  I  have 
seen,  systematic  condensation  of  the  text 
has  occurred,  and  other  condensed  edi- 
tions are  known  to  have  been  published. 
The  one  referred  to  was  issued  in  Phila- 
delphia in  1865,  with  the  author's  name 
omitted  from  the  title-page.  At  least 
one-fourth  of  the  matter  has  been  elimi- 
nated, some  of  the  chapters  have  been 
entirely  rewritten,  and  their  number  re- 
duced from  thirty-five  to  twenty-eight. 
The  publishers  announced  on  the  title- 
page  that  this  was  "the  only  correct  and 
authentic  edition"  of  the  book;  declared, 
in  an  introduction,  that  it  was  "the  only 
correct  one  ever  issued,"  and  that  it  had 
been  "  printed  from  a  copy  of  the  original 
publication,"  which  of  course  was  im- 
possible. 

It  was  a  thin,  paper-covered  octavo, 
with  illustrations  showing  styles  of  dress 
worn  in  1865 — that  is,  ninety  years  later 
than  the  period  of  the  story.  Besides 
these  sensational  woodcuts  in  the  text, 


XXXIV 


BEAUTIFUL  AND^ACCOMPLISHED 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE, 

AX  ACCOUNT  OK  HP.R  KLOI'KMElfT  WITH 

LIEUTENANT  MONTROYILLE, 

JLSFD  HEE  MISFOETTTNES  AHD  PAINFUL  SUFFEEIKas. 


LMiEXEM  OF  CIIAUM»TTE  TtM  §»*.!;, 

(fsJwn  f«t»  »«'Origioal  Portrait  ) 


PUBLJ8IIKD  BY  BABOLAY  *  OO^  «05  AHCH  8TRKXT. 


fit 


SENSATIONAL   COVER-TITLE   OF   "CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE." 

WITH   A  SO-CALLED  AUTHENTIC   PORTRAIT 
From  the  condensed  edition  published  in  Philadelphia  in   1865 


IBoofc 


it  pretended  to  have  a  likeness  of  Char- 
lotte, "  taken  from  an  original  portrait," 
but  looking  like  a  fashion-plate,  Char- 
lotte being  arrayed  in  an  evening  dress 
supported  by  a  hoopskirt.  This  stupid 
misrepresentation  of  Charlotte  is  repro- 
duced elsewhere  in  the  present  volume, 
with  the  sensational  cover-title  which  the 
portrait  was  supposed  to  adorn.  As  an 
appendix,  an  article  on  the  tombstone  in 
Trinity  churchyard  was  printed  with  an 
outline  of  "  Lucy  Temple."  It  was  writ- 
ten by  John  Barnitz  Bacon.1  Owing  to 
these  pictorial  and  editorial  features, 
newly  introduced,  the  publishers  were 
able  to  copyright  this  edition. 

Other  liberties,  much  more  reprehen- 
sible, have  been  taken  with  the  book.  In 
the  slums  of  large  cities,  many  years  ago, 
perverted  editions  were  common,  the  text 
having  been  altered  in  a  way  to  secure 


1  Mr.  Bacon  wrote  under  the  penname  of  "  John 
Tripod,"  and  in  1870  published  "  A  Legendary  History 
of  New  York." 

XXXV 


Untrotmction 

large  sales.  With  sensational  titles 
printed  in  type  that  suggests  the  "  scare- 
heads"  of  newspapers,  and  representing 
Charlotte  as  a  noted  courtesan,  copies 
were  unscrupulously  paraded  on  the 
streets  and  sold  in  large  numbers.  About 
1870  a  sensational  story-paper,  then  just 
started  in  New  York,  printed,  with  one 
of  its  advertising  posters,  a  large  so- 
called  portrait  of  Charlotte,  which  is 
reproduced  in  the  present  volume,  but 
reduced  to  less  than  one-fourth  the  origi- 
nal size.  One  of  the  features  of  the  paper 
to  which  particular  attention  was  called 
in  the  advertisement  was  a  serial  story 
entitled,  "The  Fastest  Girl  in  New 
York." 

By  means  of  these  publications,  now 
forgotten,  Charlotte's  character  became 
much  perverted  in  the  minds  of  ill-in- 
formed people,  among  whom  doubtless 
were  persons  of  respectability  and  intelli- 
gence. Something  of  that  influence  has 
survived  to  this  day  in  the  impressions 
xxxvi 


ANOTHER  SO-CALLED   PORTRAIT  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE 

From  an  advertising  poster  for  a  sensational  story-paper  published  in  New  York 

about  1870 


Ube  JSoofc 

which  many  retain  of  the  real  character 
of  Charlotte  Temple. 

The  text  of  the  rare  first  American 
edition,  which  appeared  in  Philadelphia 
while  Mrs.  Rowson  was  living  there,  has 
been  carefully  followed  in  this  reprint. 
A  copy  was  obligingly  lent  for  the  pur- 
pose by  its  owner,  Mabel  Osgood  Wright. 
The  original  owner,  as  shown  by  an  auto- 
graph on  the  title-page  of  the  first  vol- 
ume, was  Susanna  Rodgers,  the  inscrip- 
tion being  dated  September  25,  1794. 
Except  for  the  stains  of  time  and  twenty- 
one  pages  which  in  the  bottom  margin 
have  been  invaded  by  a  bookworm,  the 
copy  is  perfect.  The  two  volumes  are 
bound  as  one  in  half  morocco,  the 
number  of  pages  for  the  two  volumes 
being  87  and  83  respectively. 


XXXVll 


Ill 

CHARLOTTE 

MRS.  ROWSON'S  stories  are  pervaded 
by  old-fashioned  sentiment,  which  it  has 
been  the  custom  nowadays  to  mention 
as  if  it  were  a  reproach.  Sentimental 
they  unquestionably  are ;  but  whether  this 
be  a  reproach,  may  be  left  an  open  ques- 
tion. Our  own  period  is  distinctly  not  a 
sentimental  age — at  least  in  so  far  as 
concerns  the  expression  of  sentiment, 
about  which  we  have  grown  somewhat 
squeamish.  Human  nature,  however,  has 
not  changed.  The  average  man  and  wo- 
man remain  very  much  what  their  for- 
bears for  many  generations  have  been 
in  their  susceptibility  to  emotion. 

The  situations  Mrs.  Rowson  describes, 
the  sympathies  she  evokes,  appeal  to  what 
is  elemental  in  our  nature  and  what  is 
also  eternal.  Rudimentary  as  to  right 


XXXVlll 


C   H  A   R  L   O   T   T    E! 


A  TALE^OF   TRUTH. 


^    MYs.    ROWSON, 

CT    TIIK     NEW    TliiATRE,    P  H  I  L  AC  E  LP  H  !  4   } 

AUTHOR   o!    .•ICTVHIA,     THE    INQUISITOR, 
FILLE   DE   CHAMBRE,    ®t. 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES- 


Eut  ah  j 


VOL.  I. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

P  M  N  T  E  D  B  Y  D.  HUMPHREYS, 

FOR  M.  CAREY,  NO.  ,18,  MARKET-STREET. 

M.PCC.  XCIV..' 


TITLE-PAGE   OF  THE   FIRST  AMERICAN   EDITION.    1794 
From  a  copy  of  the  book  owned  by  Mabel  Osgood  Wright 


Cbarlotte 

thinking  and  right  acting  they  may  be, 
but  they  are  wholesome,  sane,  and  true 
all  the  same.  As  old  as  the  hills,  we 
may  call  this  sentiment,  but  it  will  last 
with  the  hills  themselves,  immovable  and 
fundamental  in  all  our  acts  and  thoughts, 
if  not  in  our  actual  speech. 

Mrs.  Rowson  was  not  gifted  so  much 
with  creative  imagination  as  with  the 
power  to  delineate  every-day  human 
emotions.  The  situations  which  could 
move  her  were  not  those  which  she  her- 
self might  have  created,  but  those  which 
she  knew  to  have  existed  in  the  life  she 
had  seen.  She  wished  always  to  draw 
some  potent  moral  from  them,  holding 
up  for  emulation  the  staple  virtues  which 
keep  the  world  strong  and  make  it  pos- 
sible for  men  and  women  to  be  happy  in 
one  another's  society.  She  was  born  to 
be  a  teacher,  and  a  notable  teacher  she 
became  in  Boston.  In  her  books  she 
aimed  also  to  teach,  and  in  doing  so 
adopted  what  we  may  call  the  "direct 
xxxix 


flntrofcuction 

process "  style  in  fiction,  taking  her 
scenes  and  characters  from  real  life.  She 
began  in  this  way  with  "Victoria";  she 
made  "Rebecca"  autobiographical,  and 
one  or  two  other  books  partly  autobio- 
graphical; and  she  wrote  plays  that  were 
photographic  pictures  of  things  she  had 
seen.  When  she  wrote  "  Charlotte  "  she 
founded  a  novelette  on  a  tragedy  that 
had  occurred  in  her  own  day,  the  inci- 
dents in  which  she  knew  to  be  true,  and 
the  characters  persons  who  once  had 
been  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  at  least 
two  of  whom  she  herself  had  personally 
known. 

"A  tale  of  truth"  Mrs.  Rowson  de- 
clared "Charlotte  Temple"  to  be,  and 
Mr.  Nason  describes  it  as  "a  simple  rec- 
ord of  events  as  they  happened,  and  as 
truthful  as  Macaulay's  sketch  of  Charles 
I."  Writing  of  the  motive  of  the  story, 
Mr.  Nason  says  Mrs.  Rowson  had  seen  so 
much  of  the  scandalous  lives  of  land  and 
naval  officers  in  that  period  that  she 
xl 


Cbarlotte 

"  determined  to  warn  her  countrywomen 
against  their  seductive  arts."1  Charlotte 
is  described  by  Mr.  Nason  as  "a  young 
lady  of  great  personal  beauty,  and  daugh- 
ter of  a  clergyman  who,  it  is  affirmed,  was 
the  younger  son  of  the  family  of  the  Earl 
of  Derby  " — that  is,  of  the  Stanley  family. 
Mrs.  Rowson,  in  the  story,  seems  to  refer 
to  this  family  in  such  expressions  as  "the 
Earl  of  D ,"  and  "the  Countess  of 

Mr.   Nason  then  explains  that  it  was 


1  One  of  Mrs.  Rowson's  poems,  written  with  the  same 
moral  purpose  as  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  is  as  follows : 

"  The  primrose  gay,  the  snowdrop  pale, 
The  lily  blossoming  in  the  vale 
Too  fragile  or  too  fair  to  last, 
Withers  beneath  the  untimely  blast 

Or  rudely  falling  shower. 
No  more  a  sweet  perfume  they  shed, 
Their  fragrance  lost,  their  beauty  fled, 

They  can  revive  no  more. 

"  So  hapless  woman's  wounded  name 
If  Malice  seize  the  trump  of  fame 
Or  Envy  should  her  poison  shed 
Upon  the  unprotected  head 

Of  some  forsaken  maid ; 
Tho  pity  may  her  fate  deplore, 
Her  virtue  sinks  to  rise  no  more 

From  dark  oblivion's  shade." 

xli 


Untrc^uction 

by  a  lieutenant  in  the  British  Army,  who 
was  afterward  a  colonel,  and  was  then  in 
service,  that  Charlotte,  in  1774,  was  in- 
duced "to  leave  her  home  and  embark 
with  him  and  his  regiment  for  New  York, 
where  he  most  cruelly  abandoned  her,  as 
Mrs.  Rowson  faithfully  and  tragically  re- 
lates." Mrs.  Rowson,  in  the  Preface  to 
"Charlotte  Temple,"  printed  two  years 
after  the  death  of  the  officer  who  is 
accepted  as  the  original  of  Montraville, 
said: 

"  The  circumstances  on  which  I  have 
founded  this  novel  were  related  to  me  some 
little  time  since  by  an  old  lady  *  who  had  per- 
sonally known  Charlotte,  tho  she  concealed 
the  real  names  of  the  characters,  and  likewise 
the  places  where  the  unfortunate  scenes  were 
acted.  I  have  thrown  over  the  whole  a 
slight  veil  of  fiction,  and  substituted  names 
and  places  according  to  my  own  fancy.  The 

1  The  Mrs.  Beauchamp  of  the  story,  whose  husband 
was  an  officer  in  the  English  Army  and  served  in 
America.  Mrs.  Rowson  heard  the  story  from  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  after  the  Revolution,  when  the  army  had 
returned  and  they  first  met  in  England,  where  the  book 
was  written,  and  in  1790  first  published. 

xlii 


Cbarlotte 

principal  characters  are  now  consigned  to  the 
silent  tomb :  it  can  therefore  hurt  the  feel- 
ings of  no  one." 

Mrs.  Rowson  had  ascertained  who  the 
original  characters  were,  and  where  the 
events  took  place.  When  Cobbett  assailed 
her  for  expressing  sentiments  foreign  to 
her  heart,  she  said  in  the  course  of  her 
reply : 

"  I  was  myself  personally  acquainted  with 
Montraville,  and  from  the  most  authentic 
sources  could  now  trace  his  history  from  the 
period  of  his  marriage  to  within  a  very  few 
late  years  of  his  death — a  history  which  would 
tend  to  prove  that  retribution  treads  upon 
the  heels  of  vice,  and  that,  tho  not  always 
apparent,  yet  even  in  the  midst  of  splendor 
and  prosperity,  conscience  stings  the  guilty 
and  '  puts  rankles  in  the  vessels  of  their 
peace/  " 

The  year  of  Charlotte's  arrival  in  New 
York  was  the  immediate  eve  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary War.  The  Boston  Tea  Party 
had  taken  place  the  year  before  (Decem- 
ber 1773),  and  in  the  same  month  New 
xliii 


Untro&uctton 

York  had  sent  back  to  England  a  ship 
laden  with  tea,  the  captain  of  the  ship 
being  escorted  out  of  town  with  much  en- 
thusiasm. In  May,  1774,  General  Gage 
had  been  sent  from  New  York  to  Boston 
as  Governor  of  Massachusetts;  on  June  i 
the  port  of  Boston  had  been  closed  by  de- 
cree of  Parliament,  and  in  September  the 
First  Continental  Congress  had  met  in 
Philadelphia.  In  the  following  year 
actual  war  began  (at  Lexington  in  April, 
at  Bunker  Hill  in  June),  and  eight  days 
after  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  George 
Washington,  the  new  commander  of  the 
American  Army,  passed  through  New 
York  to  enter  upon  his  duties  in  Cam- 
bridge. 

Here,  in  New  York,  English  sentiment 
at  that  time  was  extremely  potent,  officials 
owing  their  places  to  direct  appointment 
from  London,  and  the  tone  of  society  in 
the  upper  ranks  being  distinctly  royal. 
But  the  people  as  a  mass  were  notably 
patriotic — quite  as  much  so  as  the  people 
xliv 


Gbarlotte 

of  any  other  part  of  the  Colonies.  They 
had  amply  proved  their  loyalty  in  the 
Stamp  Act  controversy,  and  in  the  con- 
flict which,  under  the  name  of  the  Sons  of 
Liberty,  they  had  had  with  British  sol- 
diers. Here,  in  fact,  in  1770,  had  been 
shed  the  first  blood  of  the  Revolution.  The 
town,  when  Charlotte  arrived,  was  in  a 
state  of  political  and  military  turmoil  such 
as  it  had  not  known  since  the  Stamp  Act 
Congress  met  in  Federal  Hall  or  the 
Battle  of  Golden  Hill  was  fought  in  John 
Street. 

New  York  at  that  time  was  only  third 
in  population  among  cities  in  the  Colo- 
nies, Philadelphia  and  Boston  both  being 
larger.  Save  for  a  few  houses  around 
Chatham  Square,  the  built-up  parts  did 
not  extend  north  of  the  present  City  Hall 
Park,  then  an  unnamed  piece  of  vacant 
land,  described  in  the  Montresor  map  of 
1775  as  "the  intended  square  or  com- 
mon." The  only  highway  that  led  north- 
ward from  the  city  first  followed  the  line 
xlv 


Untrofcuctton 

of  the  Bowery,  and  then,  near  the  present 
Twenty-third  Street,  divided  into  Bloom- 
ingdale  and  Boston  Post  roads.  Along 
this  highway — in  reality  a  great,  and 
now  an  historic,  thoroughfare — passed 
each  day  a  varied  procession  of  carriages, 
stage  coaches,  farm  wagons,  men  on 
horseback,  soldiers  in  red  coats,  and  work- 
a-day  pedestrians.  Near  the  south  end  of 
the  road — that  is,  near  the  beginning  of 
the  Bowery  as  it  exists  to-day,  and  form- 
ing one  of  the  houses  in  the.  Chatham 
Square  neighborhood — stood  the  cottage 
to  which  Charlotte  was  taken  by  her  be- 
trayer, the  "  small  house  a  few  miles  from 
New  York  " 1  described  in  the  story.  The 
exact  place  has  been  identified  by  Henry 
B.  Dawson,  as  follows: 

"  Below  Bull's  Head,2  on  the  same  side  of 
the  Bowery  Lane,  at  a  distance  from  the 
street,  but  near  the  corner  of  the  Pell  Street 

1  From  this  point  to  the  Battery  the  distance  is  about 
two  and  a  half  miles. 

2  The  Bull's   Head  Tavern  occupied  the  site  of  the 
present  Thalia  (formerly  the  Old  Bowery)  Theater. 

xlvi 


CHARLOTTES  HOME  IN  NEW  YORK  AS  SHOWN  ON  THE  RATZEN 
MAP  OF  1767 

*  CHARLOTTE  S   HOME   AND   MRS.    BEAUCHAMP'S  *  *  POINT   IN   THE    BOWERY 

WHERE    PELL  STREET  WAS  CUT  THROUGH 

From  a  copy  of  the  original  map  in  the  Lenox  Library 


PART  OF  COL.  JOHN   MONTRESOR  S  MAP  OF   NEW  YORK  IN    1775 
From  a  copy  in  the  Lenox  Library 


Cbarlotte 

of  our  day  (not  then  open),  in  1767  stood  a 
small  two-story  frame  building,  which  was 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy  of  Charlotte  Temple. 
A  portion  of  the  old  building,  removed  to  the 
corner  of  Pell  Street,  still  remains,  being  oc- 
cupied as  a  drinking-shop,  under  the  sign  of 
the  '  Old  Tree  House/  "  J 

The  house  Mr.  Dawson  describes  is 
plainly  shown  on  the  "  Plan  of  the  City 
of  New  York,"  surveyed  by  Lieutenant 
Bernard  Ratzen,  of  the  British  Army,  in 
1767,  and  published  with  a  dedication  to 
the  governor,  Sir  Henry  Moore.2  A  part 
of  this  map,  embracing  the  Chatham 
Square  neighborhood,  is  here  reproduced. 
Pell  Street  was  subsequently  laid  out 
through  land  on  which  stood  Charlotte's 


1  Introduction  to  "  New  York  City  During  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution ;  being  a  Collection  of  Original  Papers 
Belonging  to  the  Mercantile  Library  Association,"  pub- 
lished in  1861. 

2  This  map,  as  showing  streets  and  houses,  is  the  most 
important  one  we  have  for  that  period.     Colonel  John 
Montresor,  in  1775,  published  a  map,  reproduced  else- 
where, which  is  more  important  in  a  military  and  topo- 
graphical sense,  but  not  so  satisfactory  in  its  details  of 
streets  and  houses. 

xlvii 


Untrofcuctton 

home.  It  is  the  next  street  below  Bayard, 
runs  west  to  Mott,  and  is  now  chiefly 
inhabited  by  Chinamen. 

Mr.  Dawson  wrote  in  1861.  Since  his 
time  that  remnant  of  Charlotte's  home 
has  been  supplanted  by  a  modern  build- 
ing, in  which  a  drinking-shop  is  still  main- 
tained, the  upper  floors  being  used  as  a 
lodging-house  of  the  better  class  for -that 
neighborhood.  Over  the  doorway  one 
still  reads  the  sign,  "The  Old  Tree 
House."  This  corner  of  the  Bowery  and 
Pell  Street  is  the  northwest  corner.  Next 
door  to  Charlotte,  so  that  "  their  gardens 
joined,"  as  stated  in. the  story,  lived  Char- 
lotte's friend,  Mrs.  Beauchamp.  It  will 
be  observed  that  the  Ratzen  map  shows 
two  buildings  at  that  point  in  the  Bowery. 


xlviii 


"THE  OLD   TREE   HOUSE" 

PRESENT   BUILDING   OF  THAT   NAME  ON   THE   LATER  SITE  OF  THE    ORIGINAL    "  OLD 
TREE   HOUSE,"    IN   WHICH   CHARLOTTE    LIVED,   AT  THE    BOWERY  AND    PELL  STREET 

From  a  recent  photograph 


IV 


THE  TOMBSTONE 

THE  Charlotte  Temple  tombstone  lies  in 
the  northern  part  of  Trinity  churchyard, 
between  the  eastern  pathway  and  the  iron 
fence  that  faces  Broadway.  It  is  a  long 
brownstone  slab,  well  sunk  into  the  sur- 
rounding soil,  and  bears,  without  date  or 
other  inscription,  the  name  "Charlotte 
Temple."  The  records  of  the  parish  hav- 
ing been  destroyed  in  the  fire  which 
burned  the  church  in  1776,  and  the  in- 
scription plate  having  disappeared  from 
the  stone  before  1846,  no  means  have  been 
found  for  ascertaining  the  date  of  her 
death  or  burial.  She  is  understood  to  have 
died  when  she  was  nineteen  years  old. 
Mrs.  Rowson,  however,  gives  her  age  at 
the  time  when  she  fled  from  England  with 
Montraville  as  fifteen,  and  her  death  ap- 
pears from  the  story  to  have  occurred  a 
year  later — that  is,  in  1775,  when,  accord- 
xlix 


Untrofcuction 

ing  to  Mrs.  Rowson,  she  would  have  been 
sixteen  instead  of  nineteen. 

The  absence  of  records  has  led  to  the 
growth  of  much  skepticism  among  local 
historians  as  to  the  authenticity  of  the 
stone  as  marking  the  grave  of  a  woman 
from  whose  tragic  history  Mrs.  Rowson's 
tale  was  drawn.  In  the  family  of  Mrs. 
Rowson,  however,  a  fixed  belief  has  al- 
ways existed  that  the  stone  in  this  sense 
is  authentic.  It  has  come  down  from  Mrs. 
Rowson  herself — among  others  through 
her  niece,  Rebecca  Haswell  Clark,  who 
was  a  pupil  in  Mrs.  Rowson's  school — 
and  through  Ellen  Haswell  Osgood,  a 
grandniece,  and  nothing  has  ever  shaken 
their  faith  in  it.  In  Mr.  Nason's  biog- 
raphy of  Mrs.  Rowson,  no  question  of  its 
authenticity  is  raised.  Nor  does  the 
writer  of  the  sketch  of  Mrs.  Rowson  in 
"Appleton's  Dictionary  of  National  Bi- 
ography" in  any  way  qualify  his  state- 
ment that  the  Charlotte  of  flesh  and  blood 
was  buried  in  Trinity  churchyard. 
1 


^tombstone 


Popular  belief  has  not  suffered  appre- 
ciably from  the  skeptical  views  of  local 
historians.  After  the  lapse  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  years  it  still  survives,  ac- 
tive and  potent.  Pilgrimages  continue  to 
be  made  to  the  stone;  flowers  are  rever- 
ently, tho  often  furtively,  placed  upon  it,1 
and  the  newspapers  periodically  publish 
extended  articles,  giving  details  of  Char- 
lotte's life  and  death.2  Neither  the  grave 
of  Alexander  Hamilton  nor  that  of 
Robert  Fulton  successfully  disputes  its 
preeminence  as  the  most  popularly  inter- 
esting tombstone  in  that  famous  burying- 
ground.  In  the  autumn  of  1903  a  writer, 
seventy  years  old,  who  said  he  was  born 
under  the  shadow  of  the  spire  of  this 
church,  had  had  the  Battery  for  his  play- 


1In  certain  seasons  of  the  year  this  occurs  as  often 
as  once  a  week.  The  men  employed  in  the  churchyard 
say  they  never  see  any  one  in  the  act  of  placing  them 
there.  The  flowers  are  found  lying  on  the  stone : 
whence  they  came  no  one  knows. 

2  The  most  notable  of  recent  articles  appeared  in  the 
New  York  Times  on  Sunday,  July  9,  1905,  when  nearly 
a  page  was  given  to  the  subject,  with  portraits  and 
views,  the  writer  being  Mary  A.  Taft. 

li 


IFntrofcuctton 

ground  in  boyhood,  and  for  forty-seven 
years  had  had  a  law  office  that  overlooked 
the  churchyard,  so  that  he  had  "been  on 
this  spot  almost  continuously  from  his 
birth" — that  is,  from  about  1833 — wrote 
as  follows : 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  the  story  of  Charlotte 
Temple  was  familiar  in  the  household  of  every 
New  Yorker.  The  first  tears  I  ever  saw  in 
the  eyes  of  a  grown  person  were  shed  for  her. 
In  that  churchyard  are  graves  of  heroes,  phi- 
losophers, and  martyrs,1  whose  names  are  fa- 
miliar to  the  youngest  scholar,  and  whose 
memory  is  dear  to  the  wisest  and  best.  Their 
graves,  tho  marked  by  imposing  monuments, 
win  but  a  glance  of  curiosity,  while  the  turf 
over  Charlotte  Temple  is  kept  fresh  by  falling 
tears."  - 

The  persistent  survival  of  this  story  as 
the  basis  of  Mrs.  Rowson's  romance  must 


1  Besides  Hamilton  and  Fulton,  may  be  named  Albert 
Gallatin,  Captain  James  Lawrence,  the  Earl  of  Stirling, 
and  General  Philip  Kearney. 

2 "  H.  S.  B.,"  in  a  letter  dated  September  12,  1903, 
printed  in  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

Hi 


ttombstone 


be  accepted  in  itself  as  a  fact  to  be  seri- 
ously considered.  If  it  were  the  creation 
of  recent  years,  we  might  perhaps,  in  the 
absence  of  documentary  evidence,  feel 
warranted  in  dismissing  it  from  credence. 
But  it  is  almost  as  old  as  Mrs.  Rowson's 
book.  Mrs.  Rowson,  in  reply  to  criticism, 
maintained  the  truth  of  her  story  in  her 
own  lifetime  and  when  the  book  was  new. 
While  she  did  not  give,  in  her  printed 
statements,  the  names  of  the  originals  of 
Charlotte  and  Montraville,  that  was 
hardly  to  be  expected.  Indeed,  there 
were  special  reasons  why  she  should  not 
reveal  the  name  of  the  original  of  Mon- 
traville, since  he  was  her  own  cousin,  and 
a  younger  half-brother  of  hers,  Montre- 
sor  Haswell,  bore  his  name.  But  his 
identity  was  known  to  her  friends  as  well 
as  to  herself,  and  has  been  preserved  in 
her  family  down  to  the  present  day,  and 
along  with  it  an  unyielding  belief  in  the 
genuineness  of  the  stone. 

Mrs.     Rowson     survived     Charlotte's 
liii 


flntrofcuctton 

death  forty-nine  years,  which  was  ample 
time  for  a  denial  to  have  been  effectively 
made.  It  nowhere  appears  that  either 
Charlotte's  family  or  the  family  of  Mont- 
raville  has  denied  it  specifically  or  pub- 
licly. Had  it  been  possible  to  produce 
disproof,  it  seems  fair  to  infer  that  one 
or  both  of  the  families  concerned  would 
have  brought  it  forth.  An  opportunity 
to  do  so  occurred  in  1881,  when  the  family 
of  Colonel  John  Montresor  permitted  the 
New  York  Historical  Society  to  publish 
the  "  Journals  "  of  himself  and  his  father.1 
The  only  item  in  the  book  in  any  way 
dealing  with  the  subject  is  contained  in  a 
foot-note  to  an  introductory  sketch  of  the 
family  of  Montresor,  where  it  is  stated 
that  Mrs.  Rowson's  father,  William  Has- 
well,  was  a  brother  of  Mary  Haswell,  the 
mother  of  John  Montresor;  that  Mrs, 
Rowson  was  the  author  of  "Charlotte 
Temple,"  and  that  she  has  assured  her 

j1  Collections  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society  for 
the  year  1881.  The  "Montresor  Journals,"  edited  and 
annotated  by  G.  B.  Scull ;  published  by  the  Society. 

liv 


ZTbe  tombstone 

readers  that,  with  only  an  alteration  in  the 
names  of  the  characters,  "  the  whole  story 
is  almost  literally  true." 

Considering  all  the  circumstances  of 
Charlotte's  life  and  death — that  she  was 
the  daughter  of  an  English  clergyman, 
the  granddaughter  of  an  English  earl, 
and  that  her  father,  on  hearing  of  her 
forlorn  condition,  came  to  America  from 
England,  and  was  present  at  her  death 
and  funeral — what  would  have  been  more 
natural  than  that  she  should  be  buried  in 
the  churchyard  of  what  was  the  most 
prominent  Church  of  England  place  of 
worship  in  the  city?1 

It  has  often  been  said,  and  Mrs.  Row- 
son's  family  still  adhere  to  the  statement, 


1  Besides  Trinity,  New  York  at  that  time  had  two 
other  Established  churches — St.  George's,  in  Beekman 
Street,  a  few  blocks  from  Broadway,  and  St.  Paul's, 
then,  as  now,  at  Broadway  and  Vesey  Street.  There 
were  two  Dutch  churches — the  "  Old,"  in  Exchange 
Place,  east  of  Broad  Street,  and  the  "  New,"  in  Nassau 
Street,  where  now  stands  the  Mutual  Life  Building. 
Other  denominations  represented  by  a  church  edifice 
were  the  Jews,  Lutherans,  Quakers,  and  French 
Catholics. 

Iv 


flntrobuctfon 

that  the  tombstone  originally  bore  the 
inscription,  "Inscribed  to  the  memory  of 
Charlotte  Stanley,  aged  19,"  this  inscrip- 
tion being  cut  into  a  plate  of  silvered  cop- 
per or  brass,  with  the  arms  of  the  house 
of  Stanley  placed  just  above  it.  Char- 
lotte's daughter,  who,  in  "Lucy  Temple," 
the  sequel  to  "Charlotte  Temple,"  is 
known  as  Lucy  Blakeney,  is  said  to  have 
come  to  America  in  1800  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeing  her  mother's  grave,  and  is 
credited1  with  having  erected  this  stone. 
Some  inferior  stone  is  believed  to  have 
marked  the  spot  previous  to  that  time.  In 
causing  the  new  stone  to  be  set  up,  Lucy 
elevated  it  on  four  pillars,  after  the  man- 
ner then  often  employed  for  the  finer  kind 
of  memorials.  In  the  course  of  time  the 
pillars  crumbled  or  otherwise  became  in- 
secure, and  the  stone  was  lowered  to  the 
ground,  as  it  lies  to-day. 


1  In  an  article  in  the  New  York  Tribune,  about  1876, 
where  she  is  referred  to  as  Mrs.  Blakeney,  which 
seems  to  imply  that  she  was  known  here  under  the 
name  she  bears  in  "  Lucy  Temple." 

Ivi 


ftbe  tombstone 

Mr.  Bacon  tells  essentially  the  same 
story.  "A  simple  uninscribed  headstone/' 
he  says,  "marked  the  grave  in  1800  when 
Lucy  Blakeney  visited  it,"  and  "Tommy 
Collister,2  who  had  been  for  many  years 
the  sexton  of  Trinity,  had  no  difficulty  in 
pointing  it  out  to  the  grave  and  stately 
lady  in  black  who  called  upon  him." 

The  two  novels  shed  some  interesting 
light  on  the  name  of  Blakeney.  In  the 
second  chapter  of  "Charlotte  Temple" 
it  is  an  army  officer  of  that  name  who 
takes  Mr.  Temple  to  the  Fleet  Prison,  and 
there  introduces  him  to  the  unfortunate 
Mr.  Eldridge  and  his  daughter,  the  future 
mother  of  Charlotte.  Blakeney  does  not 
again  appear  in  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  but 
in  "  Lucy  Temple  "  further  details  of  his 


1  In   some   early  editions   of  "  Charlotte  Temple "  a 
crude  woodcut  appears  as  a  frontispiece,  giving  a  view 
of  the  grave.     A  small  upright  stone  is  shown  with  a 
large  willow-tree  drooping  over  it,  the  stone  being  in- 
scribed "  C.  T."     But  it  seems  to  be  a  fanciful  sketch. 

2  Thomas    Collister,    as   the   Trinity   Church    records 
show,  was  appointed  assistant  sexton  in  1788,  and  was 
made  sexton  in  1790.     He  appears  to  have  served  until 
1816,  when  another  sexton,  Mr.  Coutant,  was  appointed. 

Ivii 


flntrotwction 

life  are  given.  He  is  described  as  "  Cap- 
tain Blakeney  of  the  Navy,"  Lucy's  god- 
father, and  an  intimate  friend  of  her 
great-grandfather,  Mr.  Eldridge,  and  is 
said  to  have  died  a  bachelor,  when  Lucy 
was  ten  years  old,  and  to  have  left  her 
his  entire  property,  amounting  to  $20,000, 
which  he  had  acquired  in  America  during 
the  Revolution.  A  condition  of  the  gift 
was  that  Lucy  should  assume  the  name 
of  Blakeney.  Mr.  Nason  says  Blake- 
ney was  probably  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Grice  Blakeney,  of  the  Fourteenth  Royal 
Dragoons.  Mr.  Bacon,  who  confirms  this 
statement,  without  making  any  reserva- 
tion, says  he  found  Blakeney's  name  in 
the  "  Royal  Kalendar,"  where  his  com- 
mission as  Lieutenant-Colonel  it  dated 
November  17,  1780. 

We  may  perhaps  assume  that  Mrs. 
Rowson,  in  writing  "  Lucy  Temple,"  used 
the  real  name  of  Blakeney  instead  of 
resorting  to  a  fictitious  one.  She  might 
properly  have  done  so.  It  will  be  recalled 
Iviii 


Ube  {Tombstone 

that  she  did  not  publish  the  book  in  her 
own  lifetime,  and  that  when  at  last  it  ap- 
peared posthumously,  Blakeney  had  been 
dead  forty-one  years.  "Lucy  Temple," 
perhaps  more  than  "  Charlotte  Temple," 
reads  as  if  it  were  a  transcript  from  real 
life. 

Among  Mrs.  Rowson's  descendants  it 
has  always  been  believed  that  Charlotte's 
remains,  some  years  after  the  burial,  were 
removed  to  England.  To  reconcile  this 
belief  with  the  visit  of  Charlotte's  daugh- 
ter, we  must  assume  that  the  remains 
were  removed  not  earlier  than  1800.  The 
date  of  the  removal  has  not  been  pre- 
served in  Mrs.  Rowson's  family,  but  the 
fact  of  the  removal  has  been  transmitted 
from  Mrs.  Rowson  herself  through  her 
niece,  Rebecca  Haswell  Clark. 

Lucy  never  married.  In  1800  she  was 
twenty-five  years  old.  Besides  the  Blake- 
ney fortune,  she  now  possessed  a  tidy 
sum  which  had  come  to  her  from  her 
grandfather.  Altogether,  she  was  an 
lix 


Untrobuction 

heiress  of  some  consequence.  "  Various 
and  comprehensive  schemes  of  benevo- 
lence," says  the  author,  "  formed  the 
work  of  her  life,  and  religion  shed  its 
holy  and  healing  light  over  all  her  paths." 
Possibly  we  are  warranted  in  entertain- 
ing a  belief  that  Lucy  came  to  New  York 
in  1800,  and,  after  having  had  her  moth- 
er's remains  taken  up,  caused  the  present 
stone  to  be  erected  as  a  permanent  memo- 
rial of  the  place  where,  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  Charlotte  had  lain  in  her  last 
sleep. 

The  stone,  as  it  appears  to-day,  has  a 
rectangular  depression  in  its  upper  part, 
about  one  foot  by  nearly  two  feet  in  size, 
and  perhaps  an  inch  deep.  At  least  sixty 
years  ago  the  inscription  plate  had  dis- 
appeared from  this  depression,  and  is 
understood  to  have  been  stolen  and  then 
recovered,  but  afterward  to  have  been 
misplaced  or  lost.  During  the  building  of 
the  present  church  edifice,  which  was  con- 
secrated in  1846,  an  engine-house,  con- 
lx 


tombstone 


nected  with  the  hoisting  apparatus  of  the 
builders,  stood  directly  over  the  stone. 
After  the  removal  of  the  little  house  the 
plate  was  seen  to  have  disappeared,  and 
circumstances  indicated  that  this  had  oc- 
curred while  the  house  stood  there. 
William  H.  Crommelin,  the  foreman  in 
charge  of  the  stone-cutting  for  the  new 
building,  had  his  attention  called  to  the 
missing  plate,  and  has  said  in  writing 
that  he  thereupon  caused  the  name 
"Charlotte  Temple"  to  be  cut  into  the 
stone  in  the  manner  in  which  it  remains 
to  this  day.1 

It  is  clear  from  this  statement  that, 
among  those  who  were  engaged  in  build- 
ing the  new  church  sixty  years  ago,  the 
stone  was  believed  to  mark  the  spot  where 
Charlotte  was  buried,  and  that  it  origi- 
nally contained  a  plate  bearing  an  inscrip- 
tion. One  naturally  asks  here,  "Why 


1  Letter  of  William  H.  Crommelin  to  the  late  William 
Kelby,  librarian  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society, 
dated  July  8,  1876.  The  original  is  now  in  the  possession 
of  the  Historical  Society. 

Ixi 


flntrofcuction 

was  not  the  name  '  Charlotte  Stanley '  cut 
into  the  stone  instead  of  '  Charlotte  Tem- 
ple '?"  Assuming  that  the  name  on  the 
plate  was  Charlotte  Stanley,  it  perhaps 
would  not  have  been  wholly  unnatural,  at 
that  time,  when  Mrs.  Rowson's  story  was 
widely  read  and  the  grave  a  place  of  con- 
stant pilgrimage,  for  the  stone-cutter  to 
have  substituted  for  it  the  name  of  Char- 
lotte Temple,  because  by  that  name,  rather 
than  Charlotte  Stanley,  Mrs.  Rowson  had 
made  the  grave  best  known  to  the  public. 
Further  excuse  for  Mr.  Crommelin's  oth- 
erwise inexplicable  act  might  be  adduced, 
provided  we  could  assume  that  he  knew 
the  grave  no  longer  contained  the  bones 
of  Charlotte  Stanley. 

Mr.  Bacon  gives  an  account  in  detail 
of  the  theft  of  the  plate.  Two  men,  he 
says,  visited  the  churchyard  on  a  cloudy 
night,  and  with  tools  cut  and  forced  away 
the  lead  which  fastened  the  plate  to  the 
stone.  As  they  lifted  the  plate  from  its 
bed,  they  were  discovered  by  two  watch- 
Ixii 


^Tombstone 


men  who  had  been  coming  up  Wall 
Street.  The  intruders  made  their  es- 
cape at  the  rear  of  the  churchyard,  drop- 
ping the  plate  as  they  did  so  in  the  tall 
grass.  On  the  following  day  the  plate 
was  found  in  the  grass,  but,  owing  to 
fear  that  it  might  be  removed  again,  it 
was  thought  inadvisable  to  fasten  it  to 
the  stone.  Mr.  Bacon  says  this  occurred 
"not  many  weeks  after  Lucy's  depart- 
ure" —  that  is,  in  1800.  His  statement  is 
not  reconcilable  with  the  implication  in 
Mr.  Crommelin's  letter  that  the  plate  dis- 
appeared during  the  rebuilding  of  the 
church  as  consecrated  in  1846.  But  Mr. 
Bacon  wrote  long  after  the  event  —  that 
is,  in  1865.  Perhaps  he  was  misled  by 
what  some  one  had  told  him.  While  he 
was  not  a  writer  who  adhered  closely  to 
research  for  his  facts,  the  statements  of 
fact  in  his  article,  when  verification  is 
possible,  have  been  found  in  the  main  to 
be  correct. 

Philip  Hone,  once  Mayor  of  New  York, 
Ixiii 


Untrofcuction 

and  for  quite  forty  years  a  worshiper  in 
Trinity  Church,  serving  long  as  vestry- 
man, and  warden,  in  1835  is  said  to  have 
opposed  a  proposal  of  the  city  authorities 
to  extend  Pine  Street  westward  through 
the  grounds  of  Trinity  churchyard,  and 
gave  as  one  of  his  reasons  that  to  do  so 
would  disturb  the  grave  of  Charlotte 
Temple.  "  She  was  treated  shamefully 
while  she  lived/'  said  he,  "and  I  am 
firmly  opposed  to  any  injury  to  her  grave 
now  that  she  is  dead." *  This  is  a  pleasing 
story,  but  it  is  not  true  that  an  extension 
of  Pine  Street  would  have  disturbed  Char- 
lotte's grave.  The  stone  lies  far  south  of 
what  would  have  been  the  street  line. 
However,  if  this  scheme  had  contem- 
plated the  abandonment  of  a  further  part 
of  the  churchyard  for  building  purposes, 
Charlotte's  grave  would  have  been 
disturbed. 

Would  "Charlotte  Temple"  have  lived 


1  "  H.  S.  B."  in  his  letter  to  the  Evening  Post,  already 
referred  to. 

Ixiv 


Ube  tombstone 

its  glorious  day  had  there  been  no  tomb- 
stone bearing  that  name  in  Trinity 
churchyard? — moreover,  had  there  been 
no  room  for  controversy  as  to  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  stone?  Something  of 
the  popularity  of  the  book  can  be  set 
down  to  this  extraneous  influence,  but 
its  share  might  easily  be  overestimated. 
Certain  it  is  that  those  who  now  visit  ttye 
churchyard  and  put  flowers  upon  the 
stone  are  not  skeptics;  these  with  stiff 
necks  keep  away,  leaving  the  credulous 
to  pursue  their  pathetic  way  in  peace. 

The  history  of  most  great  successes  in 
popular  fiction  proves  nothing  more  con- 
clusive than  that  extraneous  circumstan- 
ces, including  mere  advertising,  never  in 
themselves  made  a  great  popular  success. 
If  the  full  history  were  told  of  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  "Ben  Hur,"  and  "David 
Harum,"  the  three  books  which,  with 
"  Charlotte  Temple,"  have  had  the  largest 
sales  known  to  fiction  in  this  country,  it 
would  be  revealed  that  the  advertising 
Ixv 


Untrofcuctton 

expenditures,  so  to  speak,  "  cut  very  small 
ice." 

"Charlotte  Temple"  was  published  in 
days  when  book  advertising,  if  not  actu- 
ally unknown,  was  certainly  unknown  in 
the  modern  sense.  It  made  its  way  purely 
on  its  intrinsic  qualities  as  a  book  that 
appealed  powerfully  to  human  interest. 
As  for  the  tombstone,  we  must  not  forget 
that  the  first  success  of  the  book  was  won 
in  England,  among  readers  who  could 
never  have  heard  that  the  grave  of  that 
unfortunate  young  English  girl  existed 
on  the  western  border  of  Broadway. 
Its  success  in  that  country  was  imme- 
diate, the  sale  of  25,000  copies  being  ex- 
traordinary for  that  period — the  period, 
moreover,  of  William  Cowper,  Fanny 
Burney,  Hannah  More,  Mrs.  Radcliffe, 
Elizabeth  Inchbald,  and  Anna  Letitia 
Barbauld. 

The  sole  assistance  the  work  could 
have  had,  from  what  in  a  larger  sense 
may  be  called  advertising,  has  come  from 
Ixvi 


Ube  TTombstone 

countless  newspaper  paragraphs  and  ar- 
ticles, which  year  after  year  have  been 
evoked  in  America  by  the  tombstone  and 
the  flowers.  The  book  itself  has  seldom 
called  forth  an  article.  From  reviewers 
there  came  at  the  beginning  no  appre- 
ciable aid — at  least  none  until  William 
Cobbett  (who  liked  best  to  write  when 
he  could  flog  some  one,  and  who  could 
discover  fair  game  in  almost  anything), 
assailed  its  author's  writings  in  Phila- 
delphia in  1794. 

One  of  the  most  widely  read  novels  in 
the  English  language,  and  probably  one 
of  the  most  talked  about,  it  still  remains 
one  of  those  least  written  about.  In 
England  (for  the  first  two  years  at  least), 
it  was  left  unnoticed  by  the  Monthly 
Review,  a  periodical  which  had  for  its 
exclusive  province  news  and  reviews  of 
books.  Nor  do  I  find  any  notice  of  it 
during  that  period  in  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  which  each  month  devoted 
several  pages  to  new  publications.  Poole 
Ixvii 


IFntrotwctton 

has  been  searched  in  vain  for  a  single 
article.1 

The  only  contemporary  English  notice 
which  has  come  to  light  anywhere  ap- 
peared in  the  Critical  Review  for  April, 
1791.  "  It  may  be  a  Tale  of  Truth,"  said 
the  writer,  "  for  it  is  not  unnatural,  and 
it  is  a  tale  of  real  distress.  The  situations 
are  artless  and  effective,  the  descriptions 
natural  and  pathetic.  We  should  feel 
for  Charlotte,  if  such  a  person  ever  ex- 
isted, who  for  one  error  scarcely  perhaps 
deserved  so  severe  a  punishment."  In 
conclusion  the  writer  remarked  that,  if 
the  story  be  really  fiction,  "poetic  justice 
is  not  properly  distributed" — a  complaint 
for  which  we  may  find  a  satisfying  an- 
swer in  Mrs.  Rowson's  fidelity  to  actual 
occurrences. 

The  conclusion  is  irresistible  that  the 


*"  Index  to  Periodical  Literature,"  5  vols.,  8vo.  In 
this  work  are  indexed  the  periodicals  published  in  this 
country  and  England  from  the  beginnings  of  modern 
magazine  literature,  late  in  the  eighteenth  century,  un- 
til the  present  time. 

Ixviii 


TTbe  tombstone 

early  and  immediate  success  of  "  Char- 
lotte Temple"  was  due  to  its  quality  as 
a  story  which  deeply  touched  the  normal 
human  heart.  From  the  same  quality — 
and  this,  it  may  be  added,  is  the  only  source 
of  real  vitality  in  any  novel — has  come  the 
success  it  has  maintained  with  four  gener- 
ations of  readers  down  to  the  present 
day.  Seldom  in  the  history  of  literature 
has  a  work  of  fiction  been  more  exclu- 
sively the  maker  of  its  own  fortunes. 


Ixix 


V 


MONTRAVILLE 

BUT  who  was  Montraville  ?  Mrs.  Row- 
son  and  her  biographer,  as  well  as  others 
whose  statements  have  been  generally  cur- 
rent since  the  story  was  written,  have 
represented  that  he  was  Colonel  John 
Montresor,  of  the  British  Royal  Engi- 
neers. Colonel  Montresor  belonged  to  a 
line  of  successful  military  men,  and  was 
of  ancient  Norman  lineage.  His  great- 
grandfather, at  the  time  of  the  English 
Restoration,  commanded  the  troops  of 
General  Monk,  which  took  the  Seven 
Bishops  to  the  Tower  of  London,  and  his 
grandfather  was  a  captain  of  cavalry, 
serving  in  all  the  wars  of  Marlborough. 

Colonel  James  G.  Montresor,  his  father, 
was  resident  for  many  years  at  Gibraltar 
as  an  engineer,  and  was  present  at  the 

Ixx 


COL.   JAMES  G.   MONTRESOR 

From  the  original  in  oil,  as  reproduced  in  the  New  York  Historical  Society's 
Collections  for  1881 


flDontraville 

capture  in  1727.  In  1747  he  was  made 
chief  engineer,  the  defenses  of  the  for- 
tress being  greatly  improved  by  him  be- 
tween that  year  and  1754,  when  he  re- 
turned to  England,  and  was  appointed 
chief  engineer  of  the  expedition  to  Amer- 
ica under  General  Braddock.  Having 
arrived  with  the  expedition  at  Alexandria, 
Virginia,  he  set  out  in  June,  1754,  in  com- 
mand of  a  force  which  prepared  the  roads 
for  Braddock's  advance  westward  over  the 
Allegheny  Mountains,  through  a  country 
largely  unexplored,  and  leading  to  what 
is  now  Pittsburg.  He  was  present  at  the 
overwhelming  defeat  of  Braddock,  where 
he  was  wounded.  He  made  his  way  back 
with  the  retreating  army  under  Washing- 
ton, and  was  ordered  to  Albany,  where  he 
remained  seven  months,  preparing  plans 
for  a  new  campaign  in  the  North.  He 
made  a  survey  of  the  military  positions 
about  Lake  Champlain,  reconstructing  a 
fort  on  Lake  George,  and,  in  1760, 
erected  on  Fort  George  a  new  fort  with 
Ixxi 


Untrofcuction 

accommodations  for  six  hundred  men,  to 
which  the  name  of  Fort  George  was  given. 
Colonel  John  Montresor  was  born  in 
1736,  while  his  father  was  stationed  at 
Gibraltar.  He  came  to  America  with  his 
father,  and  went  with  him  on  the  expe- 
dition to  Fort  Duquesne,  being  wounded 
in  the  disastrous  battle.  For  some  time 
he  continued  to  serve  in  the  Colonies  as  an 
engineer,  and  then  went  to  Nova  Scotia, 
where  he  was  active  during  the  long  siege 
of  Louisbourg.  In  1759  he  took  part  in 
the  siege  of  Quebec,  carrying  despatches 
to  General  Amherst,  showing  much  per- 
sonal bravery  in  doing  so,  and  was  present 
at  the  capitulation.  His  abilities  as  an 
artist  enabled  him  to  make  an  excellent 
likeness,  in  profile,  of  General  Wolfe  "in 
his  camp  at  Montmorenci,  near  Quebec, 
September  i,  1759,"  or  eleven  days  be- 
fore the  successful  assault  on  the  fortress. 
This  portrait  was  afterward  reproduced 
in  mezzotint  and  published  in  London. 
He  was  employed,  during  the  troubles 
Ixxii 


COL.  JOHN   MONTRESOR 

From  a  portrait  in  oil  by  Copley,  as  reproduced  in   the  New  York 
Historical  Society's  Collections  for  1881 


flDontrax>tlle 

growing  out  of  Pontiac's  conspiracy,  in 
constructing  a  line  of  redoubts  at  Niagara 
seven  miles  long,  and  in  completing  a  fort 
on  the  shore  of  Lake  Erie.  In  doing  this 
work  he  made  a  forced  march  to  Niagara 
with  a  regiment  of  Canadians. 

Colonel  Montresor  was  married  on 
March  i,  1764,  to  Frances  Tucker,  whose 
portrait,  painted  by  Copley,  still  exists  in 
England.  She  was  the  only  child  of 
Thomas  Tucker,  of  Bermuda,  and  by  her 
he  had  ten  children,  of  whom  eight  were 
born  in  New  York.1  He  purchased,  in 
1770,  an  island  in  the  East  River,  which 
received  his  name  and  bore  it  for  some 
years  afterward.  It  is  now  known  as 
Randall's  Island.  Here  he  made  his  home 
during  the  British  ascendency,  until  Jan- 
uary i,  1777,  when  his  house  and  other 
buildings  on  the  island  were  destroyed  by 
fire. 

Mrs.   Rowson  departs  from  this  mar- 


1  "  Dictionary  of   National   Biography,"  vol.  38,  page 
329- 

Ixxiii 


Untrofcuction 

riage  as  a  fact  in  Montresor's  history  in 
that  she  attributes  his  desertion  of  Char- 
lotte in  part  to  his  having  met  and  become 
enamored  of  one  Julia  Franklin,  a  rich 
New  York  woman,  whom  he  married 
shortly  before  Charlotte  died,  Charlotte 
having  been  portionless.  Mrs.  Rowson, 
from  her  relation  to  Montresor  as  an  own 
cousin,  is  known  to  have  depicted  his  con- 
duct with  whatever  extenuating  circum- 
stances she  could  employ,  including  the 
discovery  of  Belcour  asleep  in  Charlotte's 
room — a  circumstance  in  which  Charlotte, 
as  the  reader  can  see,  was  innocent  of  any 
disloyalty  to  Montraville.  To  have  rep- 
resented Montraville  as  already  married 
would  have  made  the  case  against  him 
darker  still,  and  hence,  at  this  point,  it 
may  be  argued  that  she  introduced  the 
Julia  Franklin  incident  in  order  to  spare 
his  name  from  unnecessary  odium,  her 
main  purpose  being  to  point  a  moral. 
Moreover,  to  have  presented  Montraville 
Ixxiv 


flDontravfile 

as  already  married  would  have  been  bad 
art. 

During  the  occupation  of  Boston  and 
New  York  by  British  troops  Montresor 
was  the  principal  engineer  in  charge,  and 
in  December,  1775,  received  the  appoint- 
ment of  chief  engineer  in  America.  Dur- 
ing the  twenty-four  years  he  spent  in  this 
country  he  says  he  took  part  in  eighteen 
actions,  made  thirty-two  voyages,  and 
served  under  fourteen  commanders-in- 
chief,  among  them  Braddock,  Shirley, 
Loudon,  Abercrombie,  Amherst,  Wolfe, 
Gage,  Haldimand,  Howe,  and  Clinton. 
To  these  names  might  be  added  that  of 
Washington,  since  it  was  Washington 
who  led  the  army  back  from  Fort  Du- 
quesne  after  the  defeat  and  death  of  Brad- 
dock. 

Socially  Montresor  was  prominent  in 
the  best  circles.  While  stationed  with 
the  Army  in  Philadelphia,  in  1777,  he 
became  one  of  the  managers  of  the  Mis- 
chianza,  the  famous  farewell  entertain- 

Ixxv 


•ffntrofcuction 

ment  given  to  General  Howe  just  before 
his  departure  for  England,  another  of 
the  managers  being  John  Andre. 

Among  the  engineers'  maps  and  plans 
drawn  up  by  Montresor  in  America  were 
the  following:  "A  Drawn  Elevation  of 
Part  of  the  North  Front  of  Albany  " ;  "A 
Drawn  Plan  of  Port  Erie,  1764";  "A 
Drawn  Plan  of  Fort  Niagara,  with  a 
Design  for  Constructing  the  Same,  1768"; 
"Plan  of  Boston,  its  Environs  and  Har- 
bours, with  the  Rebel  Works  Raised 
Against  the  Town  in  1775  ";  "  Plan  of  the 
Action  of  Bunker  Hill  on  June  17,  1775, 
from  an  Actual  Survey";  "Plan  of  the 
City  of  New  York  and  its  Environs  to 
Greenwich  on  the  North,  or  Hudson's 
River,  and  to  Crown  Point  on  the  Sound, 
or  East  River,  Surveyed  in  the  Winter  of 
1775";  "A  Map  of  the  Province  of  New 
York,  with  Part  of  Pennsylvania  and 
New  England,  from  an  Actual  Survey, 
1775";  "A  Drawn  Survey  of  the  City  of 
Philadelphia  and  its  Environs,  1777." 
Ixxvi 


In  1778  Montresor  retired  from  service 
in  America,  and  in  the  autumn  of  that 
year,  with  the  British  fleet  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-two  ships,  sailed  for  Eng- 
land, whence  he  never  returned.  He 
speaks  in  his  journal  of  his  health  as  ex- 
tremely bad.  "Very  ill,"  says  he,  "and 
a  fistula  coming  on  peu-a-peu."  Again  he 
writes:  "My  wounds  breaking  out,  and 
the  old  ball  lodged  in  me  ready  to  start; 
besides,  a  dreadful  hydrocele — in  short, 
my  existence  rather  doubtful  should  my 
complaints  increase  for  want  of  proper 
assistance."  The  following  passages 
from  the  journal  as  relating  to  his  ser- 
vices in  America  are  of  particular  inter- 
est. They  were  written  on  shipbord 
during  the  voyage  home: 

"  My  timely  securing  Lieutenant-Governor 
Golden  and  the  stamps  within  Fort  George  at 
New  York,  in  1765,  by  temporary  .  .  .  de- 
fense, there  being  no  parapet  to  the  works, 
and  commanded  by  the  neighboring  houses." 

"  In   1769  I   divided   the   line   between  the 

Ixxvii 


flntrofcuctfon 

Provinces  of  New  York  and  New  Jersey,  by 
astronomical  observations,  so  long  a  bone  of 
contention,  and  in  chancery  so  many  years." 

"  I  attended  Lord  Percy  from  Boston 
toward  the  battle  of  Lexington.  My  advanc- 
ing some  miles  irt  front  of  his  troops  with  four 
volunteers  and  securing  the  bridge  across 
Cambridge  River,  iQth  April,  1775,  the  town 
of  Cambridge  in  arms,  and  I  galloped  through 
them." 

"  During  part  of  General  Gage's  command 
at  Boston  the  garrison  were  distressed  for 
want  of  specie,  and  also  cartridges,  which  I 
undertook  to  remedy  by  supplying  it  £6,000 
in  gold,  and  got  it  sent  on  board  the  Asia,  and 
so  to  us  in  Boston,  Government  insuring  it." 

"  I  was  twice  attempted  to  be  assassinated 
for  supporting  the  honor  and  credit  of  the 
Crown  during  my  command  in  the  course  of 
the  Rebellion — first  near  Brattle  Square,  at 
Boston,  and  second  near  the  south  end  of 
Boston." 

"  My  proposals  to  Sir  William  Howe  for 
the  landing  on  the  Sound  at  New  York,  at 
Kip's  Bay,1  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  Lieu- 
tenant-General  Clinton  and  the  success  that 


1  Now  the  foot  of  East  Thirty-fourth  Street. 
Ixxviii 


fl&ontraville 

attended  it.  My  landing  from  General  Howe 
under  the  fire  of  five  frigates." 

"  The  i6th  of  September,  1776,  the  action 
on  Vandewater's  Heights,  near  Harlem;  no 
horses  being  near  Mr.  Gown's,  where  the  guns 
were,  had  them  hauled  by  hand,  and  brought 
into  action  to  face  the  enemy."  1 

"At  the  Battle  of  Brandywine,  nth  Sep- 
tember, 1/77,  I  directed  the  position  and  at- 
tack of  most  of  the  field  trains." 

"  I  gave  the  first  information  of  the  enemy's 
abandoning  th£  works  near  Brooklyn,  and  was 
the  first  man  of  them,  with  one  corporal  and 
six  men,  in  front  of  the  piquets." 

"  My  hearing  that  the  rebels  had  cut  the 
King's  head  off  the  equestrian  statue  (in  the 
center  of  the  Ellipps,2  near  the  fort)  at  New 
York,  which  represented  George  III.  in  the 
figure  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  that  they  had 
cut  the  nose  off,  clipped  the  laurels  that  were 
wreathed  around  his  head,  and  drove  a  musket 
bullet  part  of  the  way  through  his  head,  and 
otherwise  disfigured  it,  and  that  it  was  carried 
to  Moore's  Tavern,  adjoining  Fort  Washing- 

1  The  Battle  of  Harlem  Heights,  fought  near  the  pres- 
ent grounds   of   Columbia   University,    and    McGown's 
Pass,  in  the  northeast  part  of  Central  Park,  are  here 
referred  to. 

2  Now  known  as  Bowling  Green. 

Ixxix 


•ffntrofcuction 

ton  on  New  York  Island,  in  order  to  be  fixed  on 
a  spike  on  the  truck  of  that  flag-staff  as  soon 
as  it  could  be  got  ready,  I  immediately  sent 
Cordy,  through  the  rebel  camp,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  September,  1776,  to  Cox,  who  kept  the 
tavern  at  Kingsbridge,  to  steal  it  from  thence 
and  bury  it,  which  was  effected,  and  was  dug 
up  on  our  arrival,  and  I  rewarded  the  men, 
and  sent  the  head  by  the  Lady  Gage  to  Lord 
Townshend,  in  order  to  convince  them  at 
home  of  the  infamous  disposition  of  the  un- 
grateful people  of  this  distressed  country.'* 

"  I  lost  two  brothers  in  the  service  of  this 
country,  and  a  father  who  broke  his  heart  in 
his  retreat  for  being  neglected  and  deceived 
by  his  Majesty's  deceitful  servants,  and  my 
wife  lost  her  father  and  a  brother  in  this 
cause." 

"  I  did  honor  to  my  corps  (at  least)  by 
keeping  an  open  table  during  the  Rebellion, 
when  provisions  were  so  excessive  scarce,  and 
my  house  during  it,  the  hospital  for  wounded 
officers,  and  my  wife  the  matron  from  her  in- 
defatigable attention." 

"  I  six  times  lost  my  baggage  and  as  many 
times  wounded.  I  never  had  any  restitution 
from  Government  for  my  losses,  as  house  and 
property  on  the  island,  dwelling  and  store- 

Ixxx 


/IDontraville 

houses  on  Cruger's  Wharf,  by  the  fire  at  New 
York." 

Colonel  Montresor  remarks  that 
"should  the  Colonies  (after  all)  be  lost 
to  Great  Britain,  it  may  be  attributed  to 
a  variety  of  unfortunate  circumstances 
and  blunders,  etc.,"  among  which  he 
names  these: 

"  General  Gage  having  all  his  cabinet 
papers,  ministers'  letters,  etc.,  and  his  corre- 
spondence all  stole  out  of  a  large  closet  or 
wardrobe,  up  one  pair  of  stairs,  on  the  landing 
at  the  Government  House  in  Boston,  1775." 

"  Taking  Post  at  Boston — a  mere  libel  on 
common  sense — being  commanded  all  round 
— a  mere  target  or  man  in  the  almanac,  with 
the  points  of  the  swords  directed  at  every 
feature." 

"  Not  purchasing  the  rebel  generals ;  even 
Israel  Putnam,  of  Connecticut,1  might  have 
been  bought  to  my  certain  knowledge  for 
one  dollar  per  day,  or  eight  shillings  New 
York  currency." 

"  The  sending  of  Burgoyne  on  a  route 
where  he  never  had  been  nor  knew  nothing 

1  Putnam  was  at  Niagara  with  Montresor  in  1764. 
Ixxxi 


•ffntrofcuction 

of.  Commanding  officer  of  the  artillery  a 
parade  man;  neither  knew  American  service; 
clogged  with  a  needless  heavy  train  of  artillery ; 
no  engineer  that  had  ever  been  there  before; 
no  plans,  etc.  Of  all  absurd  things,  dividing 
that  little  army,  one  division  with  St.  Leger 
and  the  other  with  Skene — two  madmen." 


Ixxxn 


VI 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  MONTRESOR  AND 
MONTRAVILLE 

AFTER  his  arrival  home.  Colonel  Mon- 
tresor  was  often  asked  to  give  his  views 
of  the  American  war,  and  the  causes  of 
British  defeat.  Usually  he  did  so  in 
terms  critical  and  even  caustic,  disclosing 
at  times  a  bitterness  of  sentiment  that 
seems  to  have  sprung  from  disappoint- 
ment at  not  securing  promotion.  He  had 
ardently  desired  promotion  in  accordance 
with  the  duration  and  character  of  his 
services  in  America.  Eventually  he  was 
made  a  colonel,  but  during  the  years  in 
which  he  did  his  important  work,  includ- 
ing the  period  when  he  was  Chief  Engi- 
neer in  America,  his  rank  had  been  no 
higher  than  captain  or  major. 
Ixxxiii 


Ifntrotmctfon 

His  failure  to  secure  better  rank  could 
not  have  been  due  to  want  of  a  meritori- 
ous record.  Nor  does  it  seem  likely  that 
in  that  age  of  bold  adventure  and  disso- 
lute habits  among  British  Army  officers, 
the  connection  of  his  name  with  the  tragedy 
of  Charlotte  Stanley,  if  known  in  London, 
would  have  done  his  professional  reputa- 
tion any  serious  harm.  The  more  proba- 
ble reason  is  that  successful  engineers  in 
the  British  Army  at  that  time  were  not 
advanced  in  rank  after  the  manner  of 
successful  soldiers.  "  In  the  present  state 
of  the  engineer  corps,"  said  he,  "you  can 
be  but  colonel,  should  you  arrive  to  be 
even  Chief  Engineer  of  England." 

Colonel  Montresor  purchased  an  estate 
called  Belmont,  near  Faversham,  in  Kent, 
and  added  to  his  purchase  in  the  same 
neighborhood  afterward.  He  also  had  a 
London  house  in  Portland  Place.  Bel- 
mont some  years  later  was  burned,  and 
the  house  of  one  of  his  sons  near  Belmont 
was  also  destroyed.  Meanwhile  he  said 
Ixxxiv 


Xast  Baps  of  /l&ontresor 


his  wife's  family  in  America  had  been 
"reduced  from  opulence  to  poverty  for 
their  loyalty  to  the  Crown."  Before  the 
war  he  was  "in  independent  circumstan- 
ces/* but  afterward  had  "all  his  col- 
lateral connections  to  maintain,  and  was 
tormented  by  a  court  of  inquisition  at  the 
Creditors'  Office." 

In  1785  and  1786  he  made  a  tour  of 
France,  England,  and  Switzerland  with 
his  family,  meeting  in  Germany  several 
Hessian  officers  with  whom  he  had  served 
in  America,  including  Knyphausen,  then 
in  receipt  of  a  pension  of  £300  from  Eng- 
land, with  whom  he  dined.  He  complains 
in  his  journal  that  from  the  Hessians 
(except  Knyphausen)  he  did  not  receive 
the  most  hospitable  treatment,  altho  he 
had  brought  letters  from  prominent  Eng- 
lishmen. At  the  Landgravine's  Court, 
his  welcome,  however,  was  most  polite, 
and  even  friendly.  He  died  in  1788,  in 
his  fifty-first  year,  his  wife  surviving  him 
until  1826. 

Ixxxv 


Introduction 

The  later  career  of  Montraville,  as  we 
obtain  glimpses  of  it  in  "Lucy  Temple," 
published  more  than  thirty  years  after 
"  Charlotte  Temple/'  and  in  which  he  ap- 
pears under  the  new  name  of  Colonel 
Franklin  (  Franklin  being  the  family  name 
of  the  woman  whom  Montraville  is  repre- 
sented as  having  married  just  before  Char- 
lotte died),  accords  somewhat  closely  with 
known  facts  in  the  life  of  Montresor. 
For  example,  the  author  says  "his  home 
was  one  of  the  most  elegant  in  Portland 
Place,"  and  Belmont  is  described  as 
"  Bellview,  a  large,  handsome,  and  com- 
modious mansion  in  Faversham,  Kent, 
with  several  well-tenanted  farms,  pleas- 
ure-house, fish-ponds,  green  and  hot 
houses." 

Colonel  Franklin  is  represented  as 
dying  before  his  time,  after  a  linger- 
ing illness.  His  character  in  general  is 
summed  up  as  that  of  a  man  possessed 
of  "  patient,  noble,  and  generous  feeling — 
a  promise  of  everything  that  was  excel- 
Ixxxvi 


Xast  Daps  of  fl&ontresor 


lent  in  character,  and  desirable  in  for- 
tune— all  blighted  by  once  yielding  to 
the  impulses  of  guilty  passion/'  He 
would  have  changed,  "not  only  his  name, 
but  his  own  self,"  could  he  have  done 
it,  so  deeply  had  he  desired  to  blot  out 
the  dark  stain  on  his  record. 

The  most  striking  scene  in  the  book 
is  that  in  which  the  author  describes 
Franklin's  death.  Lucy,  when  approach- 
ing her  twentieth  birthday,  had  become 
acquainted  with  Colonel  Franklin's  son, 
a  young  lieutenant.  Neither  he  nor  she 
at  the  time  knew  of  the  relation  between 
their  parents,  nor  of  the  changes  that 
had  taken  place  in  their  own  names. 

Lieutenant  Franklin  made  Lucy  an, 
offer  of  marriage.  On  her  twenty-first 
birthday  she  accepted  it,  and  her  guardi- 
an the  same  day  presented  her  with  a 
miniature  portrait  of  her  mother,  taken 
when  she  was  sixteen  years  old,  and  bear- 
ing the  initials  "C.  T." — a  portrait  she 
had  never  before  seen.  The  arrange- 
Ixxxvii 


Untrofcuction 

ments  for  the  marriage  had  been  com- 
pleted, when  Lieutenant  Franklin  was 
called  to  London  by  news  of  the  alarming 
condition  of  his  father,  who,  as  it  proved, 
lay  on  his  death-bed  in  the  house  in 
Portland  Place.  The  young  man  had 
spoken  to  his  father  of  his  approaching 
marriage,  when  the  following  dramatic 
scene  took  place: 

"  '  I  have  a  picture  of  her  mother/  said  he, 
putting  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  /  and  it  is  a 
good  resemblance  of  herself.' 

"  He  drew  forth  the  miniature  and  held  it  up 
before  his  father,  who  rose  up,  seized  it  with 
a  convulsive  grasp  the  moment  the  light  fell 
on  the  features,  and,  looking  upon  the  initials 
upon  the  back  of  it,  shrieked  out — 

" '  It  is — it  is  come  again  to  blast  my  vision 
in  my  last  hour!  The  woman  you  would 
marry  is  my  own  daughter!  Just  heaven! 
Oh,  that  I  could  have  been  spared  this!  Go, 
my  son ;  go  to  my  private  desk ;  you  will  there 
find  the  records  of  your  father's  shame  and 
your  own  fate.' 

"  Nature*  was  exhausted  by  this  effort.     He 

Ixxxviii 


%a0t  Dags  of  fl&ontresor 


fell  back  on  the  bed,  supported  by  his  trem- 
bling wife,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  wretched 
Franklin,  the  once  gay,  gallant,  and  happy 
Montraville,  was  no  more.  .  .  . 

"  Closeted  with  his  bosom  friend,  Edward 
Ainslie,  young  Franklin  laid  before  him  the 
manuscript  which  he  had  found  by  his  father's 
directions.  It  had  been  written  in  deep  remorse, 
and  its  object  was  evidently  to  redeem  from 
obloquy  the  memory  of  the  unfortunate  Char- 
lotte Temple,  mother  of  Lucy  Temple  Blake- 
ney.  He  took  the  whole  blame  of  her  ill- 
fated  elopement  upon  himself;  he  disclosed 
circumstances  which  he  had  discovered  after 
her  decease  which  proved  her  faithfulness  to 
himself;  and  lamented  in  terms  of  the  deepest 
sorrow  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  make  her 
no  better  reparation  for  all  her  love  and  all 
her  injuries,  than  the  poor  one  of  thus  bearing 
testimony  to  her  truth  and  his  own  cruelty  and 
injustice." 

Such  are  the  known  facts  in  Montre- 
sor's  later  biography,  and  such  is  the  pic- 
ture in  "  Lucy  Temple  "  of  the  melancholy 
scenes  amid  which  Colonel  Franklin's  life 
came  to  its  untimely  close.  These  we  may 
Ixxxix 


Untrofcuctton 

cite  in  support  of  Mrs.  Rowson's  state- 
ment that  the  last  years  of  Montraville's 
life  "  would  tend  to  prove  that  retribution 
treads  upon  the  heels  of  vice." 

Of  the  substantial  truth  of  the  story 
told  in  "  Lucy  Temple/'  as  affecting 
Colonel  Montresor's  last  days,  there 
seems  to  be  little  room  for  serious  doubt. 
Samuel  L.  Knapp  who,  shortly  after  Mrs. 
Rowson's  death,  wrote  the  memoir  of 
her  that  accompanies  the  first  edition  of 
the  book  (published  in  1828,  and  then 
called  "Charlotte's  Daughter,")  knew 
Mrs.  Rowson  well.  After  quoting  the 
remark,  made  by  her  in  reply  to  Cobbett's 
assault,  that  "from  the  most  authentic 
sources  I  could  now  trace  his  [Montra- 
ville's] history  from  the  period  of  his 
marriage  to  within  a  very  few  late  years 
of  his  death,"  Mr.  Knapp  adds  that  the 
information  which  Mrs.  Rowson  thus 
declared  to  be  within  her  personal  knowl- 
edge, "  forms  the  basis  of  '  Charlotte's 
Daughter.' " 

xc 


VII 

A, CONTRIBUTION  TO  A  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

BELOW  will  be  found  a  list  of  such  edi- 
tions of  "Charlotte  Temple"  as  have  be- 
come known  to  me  while  the  present 
edition  was  in  preparation.  Altho  it  con- 
tains one  hundred  and  four  editions,  the 
list  is  still  incomplete.  It  may  serve, 
however,  as  a  beginning  for  some  future 
bibliography  more  worthy  of  the  name, 
and  with  that  hope  it  is  given  here.  As 
it  stands,  the  list  probably  does  not  con- 
tain more  than  three-fourths  of  the  ex- 
tant titles  and  imprints. 

Copies  of  the  book  are  not  plentiful 
anywhere,  mainly  because  it  has  been 
issued  in  small  and  perishable  forms. 
In  the  Astor  and  Lenox  branches  of  the 
New  York  Public  Library  may  be  found 
eleven  old  editions.  Several  of  these 

xci 


Untrotwction 

came  to  the  library  as  a  gift  in  recent 
years,1  and  some  are  curious,  but  none 
is  earlier  than  1811.  In  the  British  Mu- 
seum, altho  the  book  has  often  been 
reprinted  in  England,  only  five  editions 
are  preserved.  None  of  these  is  the 
first,  and  four  have  American  imprints. 
The  first  American  edition  (1794)  may 
turn  up  at  auction  once  in  several  years, 
but  not  oftener;  while  the  first  English 
edition,  published  four  years  earlier, 
seems  to  be  quite  unknown  in  this 
country. 

A  search  for  copies  of  the  book  has 
been  made  in  libraries  other  than  the 
New  York  Public  and  the  British  Muse- 
um. After  consulting  some  twoscore 
printed  catalogs,  English  as  well  as 
American,  five  libraries  out  of  the  forty 
were  found  which  had  one  edition  each, 
and  two  others  which  had  two  editions. 
These  copies,  added  to  the  eleven  in  the 


1  With  the  Gordon  L.  Ford  collection,  given  by  Mr. 
Ford's  sons,  Worthington  C.  and  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 


xcil 


New  York  Public,  and  the  five  in  the 
British  Museum,  give  a  total  of  only 
twenty-six  copies  of  the  book.  With 
two  exceptions  the  editions  found  were 
fifty  or  more  years  old,  a  circumstance 
which  is  to  be  accounted  for  by  the 
almost  general  absence  in  later  times  of 
new  editions  bound  in  something  better 
than  cheap  paper. 

On  going  to  the  sales  catalogs  of  im- 
portant private  libraries,  no  better  re- 
sults were  accomplished.  At  the  Astor 
nearly  two  hundred  catalogs,  embracing 
the  most  notable  sales  of  thirty  years, 
were  consulted,  but  the  number  of  copies 
found  in  them  was  only  eight.  This  of 
course  merely  shows  that  "Charlotte 
Temple"  has  not  been  a  collectors'  book. 
But  who  shall  say  it  might  not  have  been, 
had  collectors  known  the  excessive  and 
increasing  rarity  of  early  editions. 

Nor  does  one  fare  better  when  he 
makes  a  tour  of  the  little  second-hand 
shops.  Here  in  the  outdoor  stalls  may  be 
xciii 


•ffntrofcuctton 

found  cheap,  and  often  well-worn,  paper 
editions,  but  rarely  can  one  discover  in 
the  stalls  or  inside  the  door  an  edition, 
new  or  old,  in  leather,  boards,  or  cloth — 
forms  once  so  common,  but  now  rapidly 
disappearing  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Some  fifty  of  these  shops  exist  in  the 
Manhattan  Borough  of  New  York. 
The  proprietor  of  each  was  asked  if  he 
had  the  book.1  Exclusive  of  cheap  paper 
editions,  nine  copies  were  thus  discovered. 
What  is  true  of  New  York  is  also  true 
of  other  cities.  A  large  house  in  Cin- 
cinnati, in  reply  to  an  inquiry,  wrote: 
"We  have  not,  nor  can  we  find  in  any 
of  the  second-hand  shops  of  this  city,  an 
old  edition  of  'Charlotte  Temple/  either 
in  cloth  or  paper/'  No  copy  could  be 
obtained  from  a  Washington  dealer,  and 
none  from  Albany,  while  from  a  large 

1  One  bookseller,  to  whom  an  inquiry  by  mail  was 
addressed,  made  the  following  reply :  "  Please  explain 
to  me  in  Jewish  what  Charlotte  Temple,  and  then  I 
will  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  I  can't  find  out  what  it 
means."  Had  he  been  looking  for  a  place  of  religious 
worship  or  for  a  building  devoted  to  Free  Masonry  ? 


xciv 


second-hand  Philadelphia  house  only  one 
was  secured,  and  from  Boston  only  two. 

Roorbach's  "  Bibliotheca  Americana/' 
covering  the  period  1820  to  1855,  names 
only  two  editions,  and  Sabin's  list,  altho 
the  longest  heretofore  printed,  enumer- 
ates only  sixteen.1  In  the  Publishers' 
Weekly,  the  trade  organ  of  American 
publishers  and  booksellers,  an  advertise- 
ment has  brought  to  light  three  copies. 
In  the  Saturday  Review  of  Books,  pub- 
lished by  the  New  York  Times,  readers 
who  had  copies  of  the  book  were  asked 
to  send  descriptions  of  them,  the  result 
being  the  discovery  of  nineteen  copies 
in  private  hands. 

Such,  then,  are  the  fruits  of  a  syste- 
matic search  for  a  book  which  Sabin 
describes  as  "the  most  popular  romance 
of  its  generation."  Mrs.  Rowson's  first 
biographer,  Mr.  Knapp,  writing  in  1828, 
said:  "Three  sets  of  stereotype  plates 


1  "  Dictionary   of   Books   Relating   to   America."      By 
Joseph  Sabin. 


xcv 


Untrotmction 

are  at  present  sending  forth  their  innu- 
merable series  of  editions  in  different 
parts  of  the  country,"  while  Joseph  T. 
Buckingham,  in  his  "  Personal  Memoirs," 
published  in  1852,  describes  it  as  having 
had  "the  most  extensive  sale  of  any 
work  of  the  kind  published  in  this  coun- 
try." Triibner,  in  his  "Bibliographical 
Guide  to  American  Literature,"  published 
in  1859,  describes  the  popularity  of  the 
book  in  this  country  and  England  as 
being  quite  as  remarkable  as  that  of 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  attributes  it 
to  a  similar  cause — "its  appeal  to  the 
softer  feelings  of  our  nature."  He  adds 
that  "many  of  the  scenes  are  quite  as 
ably  described." 

Considering  all  the  circumstances,  the 
subjoined  list,  incomplete  tho  it  be  in  the 
number  of  editions  named,  and  often  very 
inadequate  in  the  descriptions,  may  have 
interest,  as  I  have  already  said,  as  a  be- 
ginning for  a  bibliography. 

xcvi 


1790  - 1825 

CHARLOTTE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Rowson.  Lon- 
don, 1790. 

*  THE  FIRST  EDITION.    The  date  1790  is  usually  given, 
but  has  not  been  confirmed. 

CHARLOTTE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Rowson,  of 
the  New  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  author  of  "Vic- 
toria," "  The  Inquisitor,"  "  Fille  de  Chambre,"  etc. 
Two  volumes  bound  as  one.  i6mo,  pp.  viii. — 9-87, 
83.  Philadelphia.  Printed  by  D.  Humphreys  for 
M.  Carey,  1794. 
*THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  EDITION,  of  which  the  present 

edition,  as  to  text,  is  a  careful  reprint.     In  the  same 

year  Mr.  Carey  issued  an  American  edition  of  "The 

Inquisitor." 

Two  volumes  in  one.  i6mo,  pp.  vi. — 7-169.  Sec- 
ond Philadelphia  edition.  Philadelphia.  Mathew 
Carey,  October  9,  1794. 

*  The  date  of  this  edition,  October  Q,  1794,  shows  that 
it  was  called  for  soon  after  the  publication  of  the  first, 
which  had  probably  come  out  in  April,  some  advertise- 
ments by  Mr.  Carey  in  the  end  pages  of  that  edition 
being  dated  April  17,  1794. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son,  late  of  the  New  Theater,  etc.  Two  volumes  in 
one.  I2mo,  calf,  pp.  202  (the  final  pages  missing). 
Third  American  edition.  Philadelphia.  Mathew 
Carey,  1797. 

*  It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  this,  the  third  American 
edition,  the  title  had  been  changed  from  "  Charlotte  "  to 
"  Charlotte  Temple,"  and  that  in  1797  Mrs.  Rowson  had 
ceased  to  be  connected  with  the  New  Theater  of  Phila- 
delphia. 

xcvii 


Untrofcuctfon 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.  Founded  on  Fact. 
By  Mrs.  Rowson.  Two  volumes  in  one.  i8mo,  pp. 
142.  Hartford,  Conn.,  1801. 

*  Apparently  an  unauthorized  edition,  since  the  title 
is  changed  in  a  way  not  afterward  followed  except  in 
a  few  isolated  instances. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  Fifth  American  edition.  Two  volumes  in 
one.  i6mo,  pp.  205.  Harrisburg,  Pa.  M.  Carey, 
1802. 

Alexandria  [Va.f],  1802. 

Two  volumes  in  one,  I2mo,  pp.  168.    New  York, 

1803. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of 
Truth.  By  Mrs.  Rowson.  Two  volumes  in  one. 
I2mo.  Catskill.  Printed  by  N.  Eliot  for  H.  Steel. 
Hudson,  1808. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  Two  volumes  in  one.  241110,  calf,  pp.  137. 
Portrait.  Philadelphia.  M.  Carey,  1809. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth. 
By  Mrs.  Rowson.  Two  volumes  in  one.  24mo, 
pp.  143.  Increase  Cooke  &  Co.,  1811. 

*  Has  frontispiece  showing  a  woman  leaning  against 
a  tombstone. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  i8mo,  pp.  175.  Windsor,  Vt.  Merrifield, 
1812. 

Two  volumes  in  one.    Wooden  boards.     24mo, 

pp.  180.    Eighth  American  edition.    Brattleborough, 
Vt.    William  Fessenden,  1813. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE  :  Founded  on  Fact. 

xcviii 


By   Mrs.   Rowson.     Two   volumes  in  one.     i6mo. 
New  York,  1814. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  Founded  on  Fact. 
By  Mrs.  Rowson.  Two  volumes  in  one.  Half  roan, 
i6mo,  pp.  168.  New  York.  Samuel  A.  Burtus,  1814. 

*  Possibly  this  edition  and  the  preceding  are  the  same. 
The   inference,   however,   does   not  necessarily   follow. 
In  one  or  two  other  instances  at  least  "  Charlotte  Tem- 
ple "   was    issued   without   a   publisher's   name   on   the 
title-page. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  i6mo,  half  roan.  New  York.  S.  A.  Burtus, 
1814. 

*  It  will  be  observed  here  that  Mr.  Burtus  issued  two 
editions  of  the  book  in  one  year — each  having  a  different 
title. 

24mo,  boards,  pp.io6.    Vignette  portrait.    New 

York.    Evert  Duyckinck,  1814. 

*  From  the  above  items  it  appears  that  in  1814  at  least 
three  publishers  in  New  York  were  issuing  the  book. 
The  type  of  the  Duyckinck  edition  is  very  small  and  the 
paper  flimsy. 

i8mo,  pp.  168.     Windsor,  Vt.    Merrifield,  1815. 

I2mo,  pp.  177.    Windsor,  Vt.    P.  Merrifield,  1815. 

24mo,  boards,  pp.  175.    Windsor.   Preston  Mer- 
rifield, 1815. 

*  Mr.  Merrifield  appears  to  have  issued  three  editions 
in  1815,  as  indicated  by  the  variations  in  the  size  and 
number  of  the  pages,  and  in  the  forms  in  which  his 
name  is  given.    Of  all  the  early  editions,  his  are  now  the 
most  common. 

Two  volumes  in  one.     i6mo,  pp.   132,  boards. 

Concord,  N.  H.    Isaac  and  Walter  B.  Hill,  1815. 

xcix 


Untrofcuctfon 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.    By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.    i8mo.    Brookfield,  Mass.,  1816. 

i6mo.    New  Haven,  1818. 

i6mo,  boards. 

*  Apparently  a  very  early  edition,  of  which  a  copy  is 
in  the  Astor  Library,  but  it  has  no  title-page. 

I2mo.    Philadelphia,     [n.  d.] 

*  Apparently  early. 

24010,  pp.  138. 

*An  early  edition.  A  copy  is  in  the  Society  Library, 
with  no  title-page.  Has  a  woodcut  frontispiece 
showing  Charlotte  and  Montraville  returning  to 
the  school  at  night. 

I2mo,  pp.  152.     R.  D.  Rider.     Wallop,  Hants, 

England,  1821. 

i8mo.    Philadelphia,     [n.  d.] 


*  Apparently  early. 

1825  -  1850 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  24mo,  boards,  pp.  176.  New  York.  A. 
Spooner,  printer,  1826. 

i8mo,    boards,    pp.    144.      Philadelphia.     John 

Grigg,  1826. 

i8mo,  half  calf,  pp.  138.    New  York.    R.  Hobbs, 


1827. 

*Has  the  frontispiece  showing  the  arrival  at  Ports- 
mouth and  an  engraved  title,  vignetted.  In  type,  paper, 
and  binding  the  best  of  all  the  early  editions  here  de- 
scribed. 

i6mo.    Hartford,  Conn.,  1827. 

CHARLOTTE'S  DAUGHTER;  OR,  THE  THREE  ORPHANS.    A 
sequel  to  "Charlotte  Temple."     Prefaced  by  a  me- 


JBibitograpbs 

moir  of  the  author.    [By  Samuel  L.  Knapp.]    I2mo, 
boards,  pp.  184.    Boston.    Richardson  &  Lord,  1828. 

*  THE  FIRST  EDITION.     Often  reprinted,  and  still  to  be 
had  in  cheap  paper  editions,  with  the  memoir  omitted 
and  the  title  changed  to  "  Lucy  Temple." 
CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.     By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.    i8mo,  pp.  138.    New  York.    George  C.  Sickles, 
1829. 

*  Has   a   frontispiece   showing  the   arrival   at   Ports- 
mouth,   reproduced    elsewhere    in    this    edition,    and    a 
decorative  title-page  with  vignette. 

i8mo,   boards,   pp.    138.     New   York.     George 
C.  Sickles,   1830. 

*  A  reissue  of  the  preceding. 

24mo,  pp.  138.    New  York.    John  Lomax,  1830. 

i8mo,  boards,  pp.  138.    New  York.    John  Lo- 


max, 1831. 

*  Has  a  frontispiece  showing  Montraville  and  Julia 
Franklin  entering  a  church  to  be  married,  the  picture 
being  repeated  on  the  cover. 

24mo,  pp.  138.    New  York.    John  Lomax,  1832. 

Two  volumes  in  one.     i8mo,  pp.  168.     Printed 

by  Lazarus  Beach  for  J.  Harrison,  S.  Stephens,  C. 
Flanagan,  N.  Judah,  D.  Smith,  S.  J.  Langdon.    New 
York.     [n.  d.] 

24mo,  half  roan,  boards,  pp.  138.    Hartford,  Ct. 


Andrus  &  Judd,  1833. 

—     [Text  in  French].    Paris.     [About  1835]. 


DIE  GETAUSCHTE.  Ein  Gemalde  aus  dem  Wirklichen 
Leben  nach  dem  Englishen  (Charlotte  Temple) 
Der  Mrs.  Rowson.  Von  Dr.  J.  G.  Fliigel.  Octavo. 
Leipzig,  1835- 

ci 


flntrofcuction 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.    By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.     8vo.     Leipzig,   1835. 

241110,  pp.  148.     New  York.     Nafis  &  Cornish. 

[n.  d] 

St.  Louis,  Mo.     Nafis,  Cornish  &  Co.     [n.  d.] 

i8mo.    Cornish,  L.  &  Co.     [n.  d.] 

Two  volumes  in  one.     i6mo.  New   York.     H. 

M.  Griffith,     [n.d.] 

Two     volumes     in     one.     I2mo.     New   York. 


Printed  by  John  Swain  for  H.  M.  Griffith,     [n.  d.] 

*  Possibly  the  same  edition  as  the  preceding.  A  copy, 
bound  by  William  Matthews  in  calf  gilt,  was  sold  with 
the  library  of  Theodore  Irwin,  in  1897. 

8vo.    New  York.     John  Swain,     [n.  d.] 

I2mo,  pp.  186.  New  York.  John  Swain,     [n.  d.] 

*  From  being  a  printer,  Mr.  Swain  appears  to  have 
become  a  publisher  on  his  own  account. 

i8mo,  boards,  pp.  138.    Hartford.    Judd,  Loom- 
is  &  Co.,  1837. 

i8mo,  pp.  140.    New  York.    N.  C.  Nafis,  1840. 


*  Has  a  frontispiece  showing  Charlotte's  grave  in 
Trinity  Churchyard,  the  stone  standing  upright,  and 
inscribed  "  C.  T.,"  with  a  willow  tree  drooping  over 
it,  and  a  vignette  on  the  title-page. 

Cincinnati,     [n.  d.] 

24mo.    London,    [n.  d.] 

i8mo,  pp.  140,  frontispiece.    Philadelphia.    John 

B.  Perry,  1840  (?). 

i8mo,  pp.  138.     Ithaca,  N.   Y.     Mack,  Andrus 

&  Woodruff,  1841. 

241x10,  cloth,  pp.   125.     Illustrated.     New   York. 


R.  Hobbs,  1842. 
*  Has  two  illustrations  on  steel — "  The  Interview  of 

cii 


Charlotte  with  Montraville "  and  "Charlotte  in  the 
Garden."  A  frontispiece  has  apparently  been  torn  out. 
"  Charlotte  in  the  Garden "  was  intended  to  illustrate 
the  discovery  by  Mrs.  Beauchamp  of  Charlotte  at  her 
Chatham  Square  home  while  she  was  singing  the  lines 
beginning 

"  Thou  glorious  orb  supremely  bright." 
We  are  shown  a  stone,  or  marble,  pavement  and  balus- 
trade, a  pedestal  surmounted  by  an  urn,  a  distant  pros- 
pect of  mountains,  and  another  pedestal  and  urn  at  the 
foot  of  a  stairway,  Charlotte,  with  bowed  head,  being 
seated  amid  these  garden  splendors,  which  at  that  period 
probably  did  not  exist  anywhere  in  America — least  of 
all  in  Chatham  Square. 

8vo,   pp.   60.     Boston.     Skinner   &   Blanchard, 

1845- 

—    24mo,  paper,  pp.   139,  frontispiece.     Cincinnati. 
U.  P.  James,     [n.  d.] 

i8mo,  pp.   138.     Ithaca,  N.   Y.     Mack,  Andrus 


&  Co.,  1846. 
—     I2mo.    London,  1849. 


1850  -  1875 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Susanna 
Rowson.  i8mo,  boards,  pp.  140.  New  York. 
Richard  Marsh,  1851. 

*  Has    the    same    frontispiece    and    vignette    as    the 
Nans  edition  of  1840. 

i8mo,  boards,  pp.  140.     Philadelphia.    William 
A.  Leary  &  Co.,  1851. 

*  From  the  same  plates  as  the  preceding. 

24mo,  pp.   165,  cloth.     New  York.     Leavitt  & 

Allen,  1853. 

ciii 


flntrofcuction 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Susanna 
Rowson.  24mo,  boards,  pp.  165.  Portrait.  Phila- 
delphia. Fisher  &  Bros.,  1853. 

*  Besides  the  frontispiece  portrait,  the  cover  has  an- 
other portrait,  showing  a  different  face  and  costume, 
and  printed  in  colors. 

24mo,   boards,   pp.    165.      Portrait.     Baltimore. 

Fisher  &  Denison,  1853. 

24mo,  boards,  pp.   165.     Portrait.     New   York. 


Fisher,  1853. 

24mo,     boards,     pp.     165.       Portrait.      Boston. 

Fisher,  1853. 

*  This  and  the  three  preceding  editions  appear  to  have 
been  printed  from  the  same  plates,  or  from  duplicate 
sets,  as  the  custom  apparently  then  was  with  publishers, 
and  as  it  had  been  twenty-five  years  earlier.  - 

i8mo.    New  York,  1853. 

LOVE  AND  ROMANCE  :  CHARLOTTE  AND  LUCY  TEMPLE.  By 
Susannah  Rowson.  Two  volumes  in  one.  I2mo, 
pp.  129.  Philadelphia.  Leary  and  Getz,  1854. 

i8mo,  pp.  133.    Ithaca,  N.  Y.    Andrus,  Gaunt- 

lett  &  Co.,  1855. 

i8mo.    New  York.     [n.  d.] 

24mo,  pp.   165.     New  York.     Leavitt  &  Allen. 

[About  1860.] 

24mo,  cloth,  pp.   165.     New   York.     Leavitt  & 

Allen  Bros.     [n.  d.] 

i8mo.    New  York,  1864. 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  The  Lamentable  History  of  the 
Beautiful  and  Accomplished,  with  an  account  of  her 
elopement  with  Lieutenant  Montroville  [.MC],  and 
her  misfortunes  and  painful  sufferings  are  here 
pathetically  depicted.  8vo,  paper,  with  an  appendix, 
pp.  59.  Illustrated.  Philadelphia.  Barclay  &  Co.,  1865. 
*  Already  described  on  pages  xxxiv  and  xxxv. 

civ 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  1874. 

*  Mentioned  by  Caroline  H.  Dall  as  having  a  large 
sale,  but  "  wretchedly  printed." 

LOVE  AND  ROMANCE  :  CHARLOTTE  AND  LUCY  TEMPLE.  By 
Susanna  Rowson.  i6mo,  cloth.  Two  volumes  in 
one.  pp.  119,  129.  Philadelphia.  Lippincott,  1874. 

*  Though  printed  from   small  type,  this  is  the  best 
edition    of   those    issued    since    1855.      It   contains   the 
Preface  signed  S.  R.,  but  the  signature  and  the  title, 
"  Love  and  Romance,"  were  never  used  by  the  author. 

Two  volumes  in  one.    I2mo,  cloth,  pp.  119,  129. 

New  York.    Hurst,     [n.  d.] 

*  Printed  from  the  same  text  plates  as  the  preceding, 
but  on  larger  paper,  with  a  two-line  border. 
CHARLOTTE  AND  LUCY  TEMPLE.     By  Susannah  Rowson. 

24mo,  vi.,  5 — 254,  frontispiece  and  vignette.     Lon- 
don.    [About  1875.] 

1875  -  1905 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE  :  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Susan- 
nah Rawson  [sic],  I2mo,  pp.  190.  New  York. 
Lupton,  1876  (?). 

i6mo,  paper,  pp.  98.    New  York.  Munro.  [n.  d.] 

*  Printed   from   small   type,   with   a  portrait  on   the 
cover. 

i8mo,  boards.    New  York.    Fisher,  1880. 

CHARLOTTE    AND    LUCY    TEMPLE.      By    Mrs.    Rowson. 

i6mo.     Philadelphia.    Lippincott,  1881. 
CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.    By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.    Quarto.    New  York.    Ogilvie,  1881. 

8vo,  paper.     Philadelphia.     Barclay,  1883. 

cv 


Untrofcuction 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.     By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.      [German    text.]      8vo,    paper.      Philadelphia. 
Barclay,  1883. 
i6mo,  paper.    New  York.    Lovell,  1884. 

—  Quarto,   paper.     New   York.     Munro,    1884. 

—  I2mo,  paper..  New  York.    Munro,  1884. 

I2mo,  paper,  pp.  119.    New  York.    Munro,  1894. 

Paper.    New  York.    Optimus,  1894. 

12010,  pp.  119.    New  York.     Munro.     [n.  d.] 

—  I2tno,  paper,  pp.  135.  New  York.   Hurst    [n.d.] 
CHARLOTTE  AND  LUCY  TEMPLE.     By  Susannah  Rowson. 

Two  volumes  in  one.     I2mo,  paper,  pp.  119.     New 
York.    Ogilvie.     [n.  d.] 

24mo,    cloth,   pp.   vi.,   5 — 254,    frontispiece    and 

vignette.    London.    Milner  &  Co.     [n.  d.-] 

*  The  binding  of  the  copy  examined  is  recent,  but  the 
text  plates  and  illustration  seem  to  have  been  made 
about  thirty  years  ago. 

CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.     By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.   I2mo,  paper,  pp.  190.  Chicago.   Conkey.    [n.  d.] 

I2tno,  paper,  pp.  135.    New  York.    Hurst,  1892. 

i8mo,  cloth.     New  York.     Optimus.     [n.  d.] 

I2mo,   cloth.     New   York.     Federal   Book   Co. 

[n.  d.] 

24mo,  cloth,  pp.  259,  frontispiece.    Philadelphia. 

Altemus.     [n.  d.] 

241110,  half  vellum,  pp.  259,  frontispiece.    Phila- 


delphia.   Altemus.     [n.  d.] 

*  Same  plates  as  preceding,  the  text  extremely  cor- 
rupt. 

I2mo,   paper,   pp.    119.     New    York.     Ogilvie. 

[n.  d.] 

cvi 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE:  A  Tale  of  Truth.  By  Mrs.  Row- 
son.  i8mo,  paper.  New  York.  Federal  Book  Co. 
[n.  d.] 

*  Of  the  cheap  paper  editions  here  named  as  published 
during  the  period  1875-1905,  all  but  two  seem  now  to 
be  out  of  print.     The  others,  in  well-worn  condition, 
may  from  time  to  time  be  picked  up  in  the  little  shops 
of  tenement  districts. 

I2mo,  cloth.    Two  volumes  in  one.     With  an 

Historical  and  Biographical  Introduction,  Bibliog- 
raphy, and  Foot-Notes  by  Francis  W.  Halsey. 
Seventeen  illustrations,  pp.  cix.,  137 — 150.  New 
York  and  London.  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Co.,  1905. 

*  Reprinted  from  the  First  American  Edition  of  1794. 
Over   1200  errors  corrected,  and  the  author's  Preface 
restored. 

From  these  one  hundred  and  four  edi- 
tions, not  to  name  others  known  to  have 
been  printed,  it  seems  safe  to  conclude 
that  few  works  of  fiction  have  ever  ap- 
peared in  so  many  and  such  diverse 
forms,  or  in  forms  so  perishable.  "  Char- 
lotte Temple,"  in  this  sense,  rises  almost 
to  a  place  with  "The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field"  or  "Robinson  Crusoe." 

While  the  popularity  of  the  book  down 
to  the  present  day  cannot  be  questioned, 
and  gives  no  evidence  of  declining,  it  is 
cvii 


•ffntrotwction 

a  popularity  which  has  not  brought  its 
name  into  the  lists,  either  of  best  selling 
books  or  of  books  most  called  for  in  li- 
braries. During  the  period  covered  by 
these  researches,  many  well-read  men 
and  women  were  asked  if  they  had  ever 
read  "Charlotte  Temple."  Nearly  all 
knew  about  the  tombstone  in  Trinity 
churchyard,  and  in  general  they  had  some 
notion  of  Charlotte's  story,  but  that  was 
all.  On  a  Sixth  Avenue  surface  car,  how- 
ever, and  on  a  railway  train  bound  for 
Chicago,  during  the  same  period  were 
observed  two  young  women  reading 
paper  editions  with  close  attention. 

Again  and  again  have  small  dealers, 
with  stalls  in  front  areas  and  on  side- 
walks, assured  me  that  "Charlotte 
Temple"  was  one  of  their  most  active 
books.  "Ten  sales  a  week,"  said  a  man 
in  Harlem.  "My  order  is  always  for  a 
hundred  copies,"  said  another  in  lower 
Sixth  Avenue.  "I  am  always  selling 
that  book,"  said  a  third  on  the  East  Side, 


cvni 


"and  it's  a  shame  there  has  never  been 
a  decent  edition  of  it." 

Obviously  the  readers  who  have  been 
patronizing  these  small  dealers  are  not 
responsible  for  those  questions-and-an- 
swers  which  regularly  and  at  frequent 
intervals  for  many  years  have  appeared 
in  the  newspapers  and  periodicals  in  re- 
gard to  "Charlotte  Temple."  These 
questions  have  rather  come  from  the  ill- 
informed  among  people  really  bookish, 
to  whom,  at  least  in  the  present  genera- 
tion, has  been  denied  all  knowledge  of  a 
book  which,  if  it  has  not  shared  in  the 
greatest  literary  fame,  has  at  least  par- 
ticipated in  the  greatest  literary  notoriety, 
of  the  past  one  hundred  and  fifteen  years. 


cix 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE 

A  TALE   OF  TRUTH 

IN    TWO    VOLUMES 

VOLUME   I. 


She  was  her  parents'  only  joy: 
They  had  but  one — one  darling  child." 
— Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Her  form  was  faultless,  and  her  mind 

Untainted  yet  by  art, 
Was  noble,  just,  humane,  and  kind, 

And  virtue  warm'd  her  heart. 

But,  ah!  the  cruel  spoiler  came — " 


[The  above  lines,  in  the  original  American  edition,  are 
given  on  the  title-pages  of  both  volumes.  The  first  two, 
as  shown  here,  are  credited  to  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  but 
they  do  not  appear  to  be  in  that  work.  Other  lines 
which  Mrs.  Rowson  may  have  had  in  mind,  and  at- 
tempted to  quote  from  memory,  appear,  however,  in  Act 
V.,  Scene  V.,  as  follows: 

"  But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child, 
But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in." 

The  second  bit  of  verse  seems  to  have  been  written  by 
Mrs.  Rowson  herself.} 


THE   AUTHOR'S   PREFACE 


FOR  the  perusal  of  the  young  and 
thoughtless  of  the  fair  sex  this  Tale  of 
Truth  is  designed;  and  I  could  wish 
my  fair  readers  to  consider  it  as  not 
merely  the  effusion  of  Fancy,  but  as  a 
reality.  The  circumstances  on  which  I 
have  founded  this  novel  were  related  to 
me  some  little  time  since  by  an  old  lady 
who  had  personally  known  Charlotte,  tho 
she  concealed  the  real  names  of  the  char- 
acters and  likewise  the  place  where  the 
unfortunate  scenes  were  acted:  yet,  as  it 
was  impossible  to  offer  a  relation  to  the 
public  in  such  an  imperfect  state,  I  have 
thrown  over  the  whole  a  slight  veil  of 
fiction,  and  substituted  names  and  places 
according  to  my  own  fancy.  The  principal 
characters  in  this  little  tale  are  now  con- 
signed to  the  silent  tomb:  it  can  there- 
fore hurt  the  feelings  of  no  one,  and  may, 


Hutborr8  preface 


I  flatter  myself,  be  of  service  to  some  who 
are  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  neither 
friends  to  advise  or  understanding  to  di- 
rect them  through  the  various  and  unex- 
pected evils  that  attend  a  young  and  un- 
protected woman  in  her  first  entrance 
into  life. 

While  the  tear  of  compassion  still 
trembled  in  my  eye  for  the  fate  of  the 
unhappy  Charlotte,  I  may  have  children 
of  my  own,  said  I,  to  whom  this  recital 
may  be  of  use,  and  if  to  your  own  chil- 
dren, said  Benevolence,  why  not  to  the 
many  daughters  of  Misfortune  who,  de- 
prived of  natural  friends  or  spoilt  by  a 
mistaken  education,  are  thrown  on  an 
unfeeling  world  without  the  least  power 
to  defend  themselves  from  the  snares, 
not  only  of  the  other  sex,  but  from  the 
more  dangerous  arts  of  the  profligate  of 
their  own  ? 

Sensible  as  I  am  that  a  novel  writer, 
at  a  time  when  such  a  variety  of  works 
are  ushered  into  the  world  under  that 


Ube  Hutbor's  preface 


name,  stands  but  a  poor  chance  for  fame 
in  the  annals  of  literature,  but  conscious 
that  I  wrote  with  a  mind  anxious  for  the 
happiness  of  that  sex  whose  morals  and 
conduct  have  so  powerful  an  influence  on 
mankind  in  general;  and  convinced  that 
I  have  not  wrote  [sic]  a  line  that  conveys 
a  wrong  idea  to  the  head,  or  a  corrupt 
wish  to  the  heart,  I  shall  rest  satisfied  in 
the  purity  of  my  own  intentions,  and  if  I 
merit  not  applause,  I  feel  that  I  dread  not 
censure. 

If  the  following  tale  should  save  one 
hapless  fair  one  from  the  errors  which 
ruined  poor  Charlotte,  or  rescue  from  im- 
pending misery  the  heart  of  one  anxious 
parent,  I  shall  feel  a  much  higher  grati- 
fication in  reflecting  on  this  trifling  per- 
formance than  could  possibly  result  from 
the  applause  which  might  attend  the  most 
elegant,  finished  piece  of  literature  whose 
tendency  might  deprave  the  heart  or  mis- 
lead the  understanding. 


CHAPTER  I 

A  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

"ARE  you  for  a  walk,"  said  Montra- 
ville  to  his  companion,  as  they  arose 
from  table ;  "  are  you  for  a  walk  ?  or  shall 
we  order  the  chaise  and  proceed  to  Ports- 
mouth?" Belcour  preferred  the  for- 
mer, and  they  sauntered  out  to  view  the 
town  and  to  make  remarks  on  the  in- 
habitants as  they  returned  from  church. 

Montraville  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
army:  Belcour  was  his  brother  officer; 
they  had  been  to  take  leave  of  their 
friends  previous  to  their  departure  for 
America,  and  were  now  returning  to 
Portsmouth,  where  the  troops  waited  or- 
ders for  embarkation.  They  had  stopped 
at  Chichester  to  dine;  and  knowing  they 
had  sufficient  time  to  reach  the  place  of 
destination  before  dark,  and  yet  allow 
them  a  walk,  had  resolved,  it  being  Sun- 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

day  afternoon,  to  take  a  survey  of  the 
Chichester  ladies  as  they  returned  from 
their  devotions. 

They  had  gratified  their  curiosity,  and 
were  preparing  to  return  to  the  inn  with- 
out honoring  any  of  the  belles  with  par- 
ticular notice,  when  Madame  Du  Pont, 
at  the  head  of  her  school,  descended 
from  the  church.  Such  an  assemblage  of 
youth  and  innocence  naturally  attracted 
the  young  soldiers :  they  stopped ;  and  as 
the  little  cavalcade  passed  almost  invol- 
untarily pulled  off  their  hats.  A  tall, 
elegant  girl  looked  at  Montraville  and 
blushed;  he  instantly  recollected  the  fea- 
tures of  Charlotte  Temple,  whom  he  had 
once  seen  and  danced  with  at  a  ball  at 
Portsmouth.  At  that  time  he  thought  on 
her  only  as  a  very  lovely  child,  she  being 
then  only  thirteen;  but  the  improvement 
two  years  had  made  in  her  person,  and 
the  blush  of  recollection  which  suffused 
her  cheeks  as  she  passed,  awakened  in  his 
bosom  new  and  pleasing  ideas.  Vanity 
8 


H 


led  him  to  think  that  pleasure  at  again 
beholding  him  might  have  occasioned  the 
emotion  he  had  witnessed,  and  the  same 
vanity  led  him  to  wish  to  see  her  again. 

"  She  is  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world," 
said  he,  as  he  entered  the  inn.  Belcour 
stared.  "Did  you  not  notice  her?"  con- 
tinued Montraville:  "she  had  on  a  blue 
bonnet,  and  with  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes  of 
the  same  color,  has  contrived  to  make  me 
feel  devilish  odd  about  the  heart." 

"Pho,"  said  Belcour,  "a  musket-ball 
from  our  friends,  the  Americans,  may, 
in  less  than  two  months  make  you  feel 


worse." 


"I  never  think  of  the  future,"  replied 
Montraville;  "but  am  determined  to 
make  the  most  of  the  present,  and  would 
willingly  compound  with  any  kind  Fa- 
miliar who  would  inform  me  who  the 
girl  is  and  how  I  might  be  likely  to  ob- 
tain an  interview." 

But  no  kind  Familiar  at  that  time  ap- 
pearing, and  the  chaise  which  they  had 

9 


Cbarlotte  TTemple 

ordered  driving  up  to  the  door,  Montra- 
ville  and  his  companion  were  obliged  to 
take  leave  of  Chichester  and  its  fair  in- 
habitant and  proceed  on  their  journey. 

But  Charlotte  had  made  too  great  an 
impression  on  his  mind  to  be  easily 
eradicated:  having  therefore  spent  three 
whole  days  in  thinking  on  her,  and  in  en- 
deavoring to  form  some  plan  for  seeing 
her,  he  determined  to  set  off  for  Chi- 
chester, and  trust  to  chance  either  to 
favor  or  frustrate  his  designs.  Arriv- 
ing at  the  verge  of  the  town,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  sending  the  servant  for- 
ward with  the  horses  proceeded  toward 
the  place,  where,  in  the  midst  of  an  ex- 
tensive pleasure-ground,  stood  the  man- 
sion which  contained  the  lovely  Char- 
lotte Temple.  Montraville  leaned  on  a 
broken  gate  and  loked  earnestly  at  the 
house.  The  wall  which  surrounded  it 
was  high,  and  perhaps  the  Arguses  who 
guarded  the  Hesperian  fruit  within  were 
more  watchful  than  those  famed  of  old. 
10 


H 


"  'Tis  a  romantic  attempt/5  said  he ; 
"and  should  I  even  succeed  in  seeing  and 
conversing  with  her,  it  can  be  productive 
of  no  good:  I  must  of  necessity  leave 
England  in  a  few  days,  and  probably  may 
never  return;  why,  then,  should  I  en- 
deavor to  engage  the  affections  of  this 
lovely  girl,  only  to  leave  her  a  prey  to  a 
thousand  inquietudes  of  which  at  present 
she  has  no  idea?  I  will  return  to  Ports- 
mouth and  think  no  more  about  her." 

The  evening  was  now  closed;  a  serene 
stillness  reigned;  and  the  chaste  Queen 
of  Night  with  her  silver  crescent  faintly 
illuminated  the  hemisphere.  The  mind  of 
Montraville  was  hushed  into  composure 
by  the  serenity  of  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects. "  I  will  think  on  her  no  more," 
said  he,  and  turned  with  an  intention  to 
leave  the  place;  but  as  he  turned  he  saw 
the  gate  which  led  to  the  pleasure-grounds 
open  and  two  women  come  out,  who 
walked  arm  in  arm  across  the  field. 

"I  will  at  least  see  who  these  are," 
ii 


Cbariotte  Uempie 

said  he.  He  overtook  them,  and  giving 
them  the  compliments  of  the  evening, 
begged  leave  to  see  them  into  the  more 
frequented  parts  of  the  town:  but  how 
was  he  delighted,  when,  waiting  for  an 
answer,  he  discovered,  under  the  con- 
cealment of  a  large  bonnet,  the  face  of 
Charlotte  Temple. 

He  soon  found  means  to  ingratiate 
himself  with  her  companion,  who  was  a 
French  teacher  at  the  school,  and  at  part- 
ing, slipped  a  letter  he  had  purposely 
written  into  Charlotte's  hand,  and  five 
guineas  into  that  of  mademoiselle,  who 
promised  she  would  endeavor  to  bring 
her  young  charge  into  the  field  again  the 
next  evening. 


12 


CHAPTER  II 

DOMESTIC    CONCERNS 

MR.  TEMPLE  was  the  youngest  son  of 
a  nobleman,  whose  fortune  was  by  no 
means  adequate  to  the  antiquity,  gran- 
deur, and,  I  may  add,  pride  of  the  family. 
He  saw  his  elder  brother  made  complete- 
ly wretched  by  marrying  a  disagreeable 
woman,  whose  fortune  helped  to  prop 
the  sinking  dignity  of  the  house;  and  he 
beheld  his  sisters  legally  prostituted  to 
old,  decrepit  men,  whose  titles  gave  them 
consequence  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and 
whose  affluence  rendered  them  splendidly 
miserable.  "I  will  not  sacrifice  internal 
happiness  for  outward  show/'  said  he; 
"  I  will  seek  Content ;  and  if  I  find  her  in 
a  cottage,  will  embrace  her  with  as  much 
cordiality  as  I  should  if  seated  on  a 
throne." 

Mr.   Temple  possessed  a   small  estate 

13 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

of  about  five  hundred  pounds  a  year ;  and 
with  that  he  resolved  to  preserve  inde- 
pendence, to  marry  where  the  feelings 
of  his  heart  should  direct  him,  and  to 
confine  his  expenses  within  the  limits  of 
his  income.  He  had  a  heart  open  to 
every  generous  feeling  of  humanity,  and 
a  hand  ready  to  dispense  to  those  who 
wanted,  part  of  the  blessings  he  enjoyed 
himself. 

As  he  was  universally  known  to  be  the 
friend  of  the  unfortunate,  his  advice  and 
bounty  was  [sic]  frequently  solicited;  nor 
was  it  seldom  that  he  sought  out  indigent 
merit,  and  raised  it  from  obscurity,  con- 
fining his  own  expenses  within  a  very 
narrow  compass. 

"  You  are  a  benevolent  fellow,"  said 
a  young  officer  to  him  one  day;  '  and 
I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  you  a  fine 
subject  to  exercise  the  goodness  of  your 
heart  upon." 

"You  can  not  oblige  me  more,"  said 
Temple,  "than  to  point  out  any  way  by 
14 


Domestic  Concerns 


which  I  can  be  serviceable  to  my  fellow 
creatures." 

"Come  along,  then,"  said  the  young 
man,  "we  will  go  and  visit  a  man  who  is 
not  in  so  good  a  lodging  as  he  deserves; 
and  were  it  not  that  he  has  an  angel  with 
him,  who  comforts  and  supports  him,  he 
must  long  since  have  sunk  under  his  mis- 
fortunes." The  young  man's  heart  was 
too  full  to  proceed;  and  Temple,  unwill- 
ing to  irritate  his  feelings  by  making  fur- 
ther inquiries,  followed  him  in  silence  till 
they  arrived  at  the  Fleet  Prison.1 

The  officer  inquired  for  Captain  El- 
dridge :  a  person  led  them  up  several  pair 
of  dirty  stairs,  and  pointing  to  a  door 
which  led  to  a  miserable,  small  apart- 
ment, said  that  was  the  captain's  room, 
and  retired. 


1  The  famous  Fleet  Prison  in  London  for  centuries 
had  been  a  general  receptacle  for  debtors.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  it  had  become  a  scene  of  the  worst 
forms  of  brutality,  and  even  vice,  in  consequence  of  the 
extortions  exacted  by  keepers,  but  primarily  chargeable 
to  a  system  by  which  wardens  were  able  to  underlet 
privileges. 

15 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

The  officer,  whose  name  was  Blake- 
ney,  tapped  at  the  door,  and  was  bid  to 
enter  by  a  voice  melodiously  soft.  He 
opened  the  door  and  discovered  to  Tem- 
ple a  scene  which  rivited  him  to  the  spot 
with  astonishment. 

The  apartment,  tho  small  and  bear- 
ing strong  marks  of  poverty,  was  neat  in 
the  extreme.  In  an  armchair,  his  head 
reclined  upon  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
a  book  which  lay  open  before  him,  sat 
an  aged  man  in  a  lieutenant's  uniform, 
which,  tho  threadbare,  would  sooner  call 
a  blush  of  shame  into  the  face  of  those 
who  could  neglect  real  merit,  than  cause 
the  hectic  of  confusion  to  glow  on  the 
cheeks  of  him  who  wore  it. 

Beside  him  sat  a  lovely  creature,  busied 
in  painting  a  fan  mount.  She  was  fair  as 
the  lily;  but  sorrow  had  nipped  the  rose 
in  her  cheek  before  it  was  half  blown. 
Her  eyes  were  blue;  and  her  hair,  which 
was  light  brown,  was  slightly  confined 
under  a  plain  muslin  cap,  tied  round  with 

16 


Domestic  Concerns 


a  black  ribbon;  a  white  linen  gown  and 
plain  lawn  handkerchief  composed  the  re- 
mainder of  her  dress;  and  in  this  simple 
attire  she  was  more  irresistibly  charming 
to  such  a  heart  as  Temple's  than  she 
would  have  been  if  adorned  with  all  the 
splendor  of  a  courtly  belle. 

When  they  entered  the  old  man  arose 
from  his  seat,  and,  shaking  Blakeney  by 
the  hand  with  great  cordiality,  offered 
Temple  his  chair;  and  there  being  but 
three  in  the  room,  seated  himself  on  the 
side  of  his  little  bed  with  evident  com- 
posure. 

'This  is  a  strange  place,"  said  he  to 
Temple,  "to  receive  visitors  of  distinc- 
tion in,  but  we  must  fit  our  feelings  to 
our  station.  While  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
own  the  cause  which  brought  me  here, 
why  should  I  blush  at  my  situation  ?  Our 
misfortunes  are  not  our  faults,  and  were 
it  not  for  that  poor  girl- 
Here  the  philosopher  was  lost  in  the 
father.  He  rose  hastily  from  his  seat, 

17 


Cbarlctte  ZTemple 

and,  walking  toward  the  window,  wiped 
off  a  tear  which  he  was  afraid  would  tar- 
nish the  cheek  of  a  sailor. 

Temple  cast  his  eye  on  Miss  Eldridge; 
a  pellucid  drop  had  stolen  from  her  eyes 
and  fallen  upon  a  rose  she  was  paint- 
ing. It  blotted  and  discolored  the  flower. 
"Tis  emblematic,"  said  he,  mentally; 
"the  rose  of  youth  and  health  soon  fades 
when  watered  by  the  tear  of  affliction." 

"My  friend  Blakeney,"  said  he,  ad- 
dressing the  old  man,  "told  me  I  could 
be  of  service  to  you:  be  so  kind,  then, 
dear  sir,  as  to  point  out  some  way  in 
which  I  can  relieve  the  anxiety  of  your 
heart  and  increase  the  pleasures  of  my 


own." 


"  My  good  young  man,"  said  Eldridge, 
"you  know  not  what  you  offer.  While 
deprived  of  my  liberty,  I  can  not  be  free 
from  anxiety  on  my  own  account;  but 
that  is  a  trifling  concern;  my  anxious 
thoughts  extend  to  one  more  dear  a  thou- 
sand times  than  life:  I  am  a  poor,  weak 
18 


Domestic  Concerns 


old  man,  and  must  expect  in  a  few  years 
to  sink  into  silence  and  oblivion,  but  when 
I  am  gone  who  will  protect  that  fair  bud 
of  innocence  from  the  blasts  of  adversity, 
or  from  the  cruel  hand  of  insult  and  dis- 
honor?" 

"  Oh,  my  father ! "  cried  Miss  Eldridge, 
tenderly  taking  his  hand,  "  be  not  anxious 
on  that  account,  for  daily  are  my  prayers 
offered  to  Heaven  that  our  lives  may  ter- 
minate at  the  same  instant,  and  one  grave 
receive  us  both;  for  why  should  I  live 
when  deprived  of  my  only  friend?" 

Temple  was  moved  even  to  tears. 
"You  will  both  live  many  years!"  said 
he,  "and,  I  hope,  see  much  happiness. 
Cheerily,  my  friend,  cheerily;  these  pass- 
ing clouds  of  adversity  will  serve  only  to 
make  the  sunshine  of  prosperity  more 
pleasing.  But  we  are  losing  time:  you 
might,  ere  this,  have  told  me  who  were 
your  creditors,  what  were  their  demands, 
and  other  particulars  necessary  to  your 
liberation." 

19 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

"  My  story  is  short,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
"but  there  are  some  particulars  which 
will  wring  my  heart  barely  to  remember; 
yet  to  one  whose  offers  of  friendship  ap- 
pear so  open  and  disinterested,  I  will 
relate  every  circumstance  that  led  to  my 
present  painful  situation.  But,  my  child," 
continued  he,  addressing  his  daughter, 
"  let  me  prevail  on  you  to  take  this  oppor- 
tunity, while  my  friends  are  with  me,  to 
enjoy  the  benefit  of  air  and  exercise.  Go, 
my  love;  leave  me  now;  to-morrow,  at 
your  usual  hour,  I  will  expect  you." 

Miss  Eldridge  impressed  on  his  cheek 
the  kiss  of  filial  affection,  and  obeyed. 


20 


CHAPTER   III 

UNEXPECTED  MISFORTUNES 

"Mv  life,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  "till 
within  these  few  years,  was  marked  by 
no  particular  circumstance  deserving  no- 
tice. I  early  embraced  the  life  of  a  sailor, 
and  have  served  my  king  with  unremitted 
ardor  for  many  years.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-five  I  married  an  amiable  woman ; 
one  son  and  the  girl  who  just  now  left  us 
were  the  fruits  of  our  union.  My  boy 
had  genius  and  spirit.  I  straitened  my 
little  income  to  give  him  a  liberal  educa- 
tion; but  the  rapid  progress  he  made  in 
his  studies  amply  compensated  for  the  in- 
convenience. At  the  academy  where  he 
received  his  education,  he  commenced  an 
acquaintance  with  a  Mr.  Lewis,  a  young 
man  of  affluent  fortune:  as  they  grew  up 
their  intimacy  ripened  into  friendship, 

21 


Cbatiotte  Uempie 

and  they  became  almost  inseparable  com- 
panions. 

"George  chose  the  profession  of  a 
soldier.  I  had  neither  friends  nor  money 
to  procure  him  a  commission,  and  had 
wished  him  to  embrace  a  nautical  life: 
but  this  was  repugnant  to  his  wishes,  and 
I  ceased  to  urge  him  on  the  subject. 

"The  friendship  subsisting  between 
Lewis  and  my  son  was  of  such  a  nature 
as  gave  him  free  access  to  our  family, 
and  so  specious  was  his  manner  that  we 
hesitated  not  to  state  to  him  all  our  little 
difficulties  in  regard  to  George's  future 
views.  He  listened  to  us  with  attention, 
and  offered  to  advance  any  sum  necessary 
for  his  first  setting  out. 

"I  embraced  the  offer,  and  gave  him 
my  note  for  the  payment  of  it;  but  he 
would  not  suffer  me  to  mention  any  stipu- 
lated time,  as  he  said  I  might  do  it  when- 
ever most  convenient  to  myself.  About 
this  time  my  dear  Lucy  returned  from 
school,  and  I  soon  began  to  imagine  Lew- 

22 


TUneipecteb  /HMsfortunes 


is  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  affection. 
I  gave  my  child  a  caution  to  beware  of 
him,  and  to  look  on  her  mother  as  her 
friend.  She  was  unaffectedly  artless ;  and 
when,  as  I  suspected,  Lewis  made  profes- 
sions of  love,  she  confided  in  her  parents, 
and  assured  us  her  heart  was  perfectly 
unbiased  in  his  favor,  and  she  would 
cheerfully  submit  to  our  direction. 

"I  took  an  early  opportunity  of  ques- 
tioning him  concerning  his  intentions  to- 
ward my  child;  he  gave  an  equivocal 
answer,  and  I  forbade  him  the  house. 

"The  next  day  he  sent  and  demanded 
payment  of  his  money.  It  was  not  in 
my  power  to  comply  with  the  demand. 
I  requested  three  days  to  endeavor  to 
raise  it,  determining  in  that  time  to  mort- 
gage my  half-pay,  and  live  on  a  small 
annuity  which  my  wife  possessed,  rather 
than  be  under  any  obligation  to  so  worth- 
less a  man:  but  this  short  time  was  not 
allowed  me,  for  that  evening,  as  I  was 
sitting  down  to  supper,  unsuspicious  of 

23 


Gbariotte  ^Temple 

danger,  an  officer  entered  and  tore  me 
from  the  embraces  of  my  family. 

"My  wife  had  been  for  some  time  in 
a  declining  state  of  health:  ruin  at  once 
so  unexpected  and  inevitable  was  a  stroke 
she  was  not  prepared  to  bear;  and  I  saw 
her  faint  into  the  arms  of  our  servant,  as 
I  left  my  own  habitation  for  the  comfort- 
less walls  of  a  prison.  My  poor  Lucy, 
distracted  with  her  fears  for  us  both, 
sunk  on  the  floor  and  endeavored  to  de- 
tain me  by  her  feeble  efforts ;  but  in  vain ; 
they  forced  open  her  arms;  she  shrieked 
and  fell  prostrate.  But  pardon  me.  The 
horrors  of  that  night  unman  me.  I  can 
not  proceed." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked 
several  times  across  the  room:  at  length, 
attaining  more  composure,  he  cried: 
"What  a  mere  infant  I  am!  Why,  sir, 
I  never  felt  thus  in  the  day  of  battle." 

"No,"    said   Temple;    "but    the   truly 
brave   soul   is   tremblingly   alive   to   the 
feelings  of  humanity." 
24 


mneipectefc  rtMsfortunes 


"True,"  replied  the  old  man  (some- 
thing like  satisfaction  darting  across  his 
features),  "and  painful  as  these  feelings 
are,  I  would  not  exchange  them  for  that 
torpor  which  the  stoic  mistakes  for  phil- 
osophy. How  many  exquisite  delights 
should  I  have  passed  by  unnoticed,  but 
for  these  keen  sensations,  this  quick  sense 
of  happiness  or  misery?  Then  let  us,  my 
friend,  take  the  cup  of  life  as  it  is  pre- 
sented to  us,  tempered  by  the  hand  of  a 
wise  Providence;  be  thankful  for  the 
good,  be  patient  unto  the  evil,  and  pre- 
sume not  to  inquire  why  the  latter  pre- 
dominates." 

"This  is  true  philosophy,"  said  Tem- 
ple. 

"'Tis  the  only  way  to  reconcile  our- 
selves to  the  cross  events  of  life,"  replied 
he.  "But  I  forget  myself.  I  will  not 
longer  intrude  on  your  patience,  but  pro- 
ceed in  my  melancholy  tale. 

"The  very  evening  that  I  was  taken 

25 


flbariotte  temple 

to  prison,  my  son  arrived  from  Ireland, 
where  he  had  been  some  time  with  his 
regiment.  From  the  distracted  expres- 
sions of  his  mother  and  sister,  he  learnt 
by  whom  I  had  been  arrested;  and,  late 
as  it  was,  flew  on  the  wings  of  wounded 
affection  to  the  house  of  his  false  friend, 
and  earnestly  enquired  the  cause  of  this 
cruel  conduct.  With  all  the  calmness 
of  a  cool,  deliberate  villain,  he  avowed 
his  passion  for  Lucy;  declared  her  situa- 
tion in  life  would  not  permit  him  to 
marry  her;  but  offered  to  release  me  im- 
mediately, and  make  any  settlement  on 
her,  if  George  would  persuade  her  to  live, 
as  he  impiously  termed  it,  a  life  of  honor. 
"Fired  at  the  insult  offered  to  a  man 
and  a  soldier,  my  boy  struck  the  villain, 
and  a  challenge  ensued.  He  then  went  to 
a  coffee-house  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
wrote  a  long,  affectionate  letter  to  me, 
blaming  himself  severely  for  having  in- 
troduced Lewis  into  the  family,  or  per- 
26 


TUnerpectefc  fl&tefortunes 


mitted  him  to  confer  an  obligation  which 
had  brought  inevitable  ruin  on  us  all.  He 
begged  me,  whatever  might  be  the  event 
of  the  ensuing  morning,  not  to  suffer 
regret  or  unavailing  sorrow  for  his  fate 
to  increase  the  anguish  of  my  heart, 
which  he  greatly  feared  was  already  in- 
supportable. 

"  This  letter  was  delivered  to  me  early 
in  the  morning.  It  would  be  vain  to  at- 
tempt to  describe  my  feelings  on  the 
perusal  of  it;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  a 
merciful  Providence  interposed,  and  I 
was  for  three  weeks  insensible  to  miser- 
ies almost  beyond  the  strength  of  human 
nature  to  support. 

"A  fever  and  strong  delirium  seized 
me,  and  my  life  was  despaired  of.  At 
length  nature,  overpowered  with  fatigue, 
gave  way  to  the  salutary  power  of  rest, 
and  a  quiet  slumber  of  some  hours  re- 
stored me  to  reason,  tho  the  extreme 
weakness  of  my  frame  prevented  my  feel- 
27 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

ing  my  distress  so  acutely  as  I  otherwise 
should. 

"The  first  object  that  struck  me  on 
awaking  was  Lucy  sitting  by  my  bed- 
side ;  her  pale  countenance  and  sable  dress 
prevented  my  inquiries  for  poor  George: 
for  the  letter  I  had  received  from  him 
was  the  first  thing  that  occurred  to  my 
memory.  By  degrees  the  rest  returned: 
I  recollected  being  arrested,  but  could  no 
ways  account  for  being  in  this  apartment, 
whither  they  had  conveyed  me  during  my 
illness. 

"  I  was  so  weak  as  to  be  almost  unable 
to  speak.  I  pressed  Lucy's  hand,  and 
looked  earnestly  round  the  apartment  in 
search  of  another  dear  object. 

'"Where  is  your  mother?'  said  I, 
faintly. 

"The  poor  girl  could  not  answer:  she 
shook  her  head  in  expressive  silence ;  and 
throwing  herself  on  the  bed,  folded  her 
arms  about  me  and  burst  into  tears. 

"'What!  both  gone?'  said  I. 
28 


TUnexpectefc  /HMsfortunes 


" '  Both/  she  replied,  endeavoring  to 
restrain  her  emotions:  'but  they  are 
happy,  no  doubt." 

Here  Mr.  Eldridge  paused:  the  recol- 
lection of  the  scene  was  too  painful  to 
permit  him  to  proceed. 


29 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHANGE    OF    FORTUNE 

"Ix  was  some  days/'  continued  Mr. 
Eldridge,  recovering  himself,  "before  I 
could  venture  to  inquire  the  particulars 
of  what  had  happened  during  my  illness : 
at  length  I  assumed  courage  to.  ask  my 
dear  girl  how  long  her  mother  and  broth- 
er had  been  dead:  she  told  me  that  the 
morning  after  my  arrest,  George  came 
home  early  to  inquire  after  his  mother's 
health,  staid  with  them  but  a  few  min- 
utes, seemed  greatly  agitated  at  parting, 
but  gave  them  strict  charge  to  keep  up 
their  spirits,  and  hope  everything  would 
turn  out  for  the  best.  In  about  two  hours 
after,  as  they  were  sitting  at  breakfast 
and  endeavoring  to  strike  out  some  plan 
to  attain  my  liberty,  they  heard  a  loud 
rap  at  the  door,  which  Lucy,  running  to 

30 


Cbange  of  fortune 

open,  she  met  the  bleeding  body  of  her 
brother,  borne  in  by  two  men,  who  had 
lifted  him  from  a  litter,  on  which  they  had 
brought  him  from  the  place  where  he 
fought.  Her  poor  mother,  weakened 
by  illness  and  the  struggles  of  the  pre- 
ceding night,  was  not  able  to  support  this 
shock:  gasping  for  breath,  her  looks  wild 
and  haggard,  she  reached  the  apartment 
where  they  had  carried  her  dying  son. 
She  knelt  by  the  bedside;  and  taking  his 
cold  hand :  '  My  poor  boy/  said  she,  '  I 
will  not  be  parted  from  thee:  husband! 
son!  both  at  once  lost.  Father  of  mer- 
cies, spare  me!'  She  fell  into  a  strong 
convulsion,  and  expired  in  about  two 
hours.  In  the  meantime  a  surgeon  had 
dressed  George's  wounds;  but  they  were 
in  such  a  situation  as  to  bar  the  smallest 
hopes  of  recovery.  He  never  was  sensi- 
ble from  the  time  he  was  brought  home, 
and  died  that  evening  in  the  arms  of  his 
sister. 

"Late  as  it  was  when  this  event  took 


Cfoarlotte  Uemple 

place,  my  affectionate  Lucy  insisted  on 
coming  to  me.  'What  must  he  feel/ 
said  she,  'at  our  apparent  neglect,  and 
how  shall  I  inform  him  of  the  afflictions 
with  which  it  has  pleased  Heaven  to  visit 
us?' 

"She  left  the  care  of  the  dear  depart- 
ed ones  to  some  neighbors,  who  had  kind- 
ly come  in  to  comfort  and  assist  her;  and 
on  entering  the  house  where  I  was  con- 
fined, found  me  in  the  situation  I  have 
mentioned. 

"How  she  supported  herself  in  these 
trying  moments  I  know  not:  Heaven  no 
doubt  was  with  her;  and  her  anxiety  to 
preserve  the  life  of  one  parent  in  some 
measure  abated  her  affliction  for  the  loss 
of  the  other. 

"My  circumstances  were  greatly  em- 
barrassed, my  acquaintances  few,  and 
those  few  utterly  unable  to  assist  me. 
When  my  wife  and  son  were  committed 
to  their  kindred  earth,  my  creditors  seized 
my  house  and  furniture,  which,  not  being 
32 


of  ffortune 


sufficient  to  discharge  all  their  demands, 
detainers  were  lodged  against  me.  No 
friend  stepped  forward  to  my  relief ;  from 
the  grave  of  her  mother,  my  beloved  Lucy 
followed  an  almost  dying  father  to  this 
melancholy  place. 

"  Here  we  have  been  nearly  a  year  and 
a  half.  My  half-pay  I  have  given  up  to 
satisfy  my  creditors,  and  my  child  sup- 
ports me  by  her  industry:  sometimes  by 
fine  needlework,  sometimes  by  painting. 
She  leaves  me  every  night,  and  goes  to  a 
lodging  near  the  bridge;  but  returns  in 
the  morning  to  cheer  me  with  her  smiles, 
and  bless  me  by  her  duteous  affection.  A 
lady  once  offered  her  an  asylum  in  her 
family;  but  she  would  not  leave  me. 
'  We  are  all  the  world  to  each  other/  said 
she.  'I  thank  God  I  have  health  and 
spirits  to  improve  the  talents  with  which 
nature  has  endowed  me;  and  I  trust,  if 
I  employ  them  in  the  support  of  a  be- 
loved parent,  I  shall  not  be  thought  an 
unprofitable  servant.  While  he  lives,  I 

33 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

pray  for  strength  to  pursue  my  employ- 
ment ;  and  when  it  pleases  Heaven  to  take 
one  of  us,  may  it  give  the  survivor  resig- 
nation to  bear  the  separation  as  we  ought : 
till  then  I  will  never  leave  him/' 

"But  where  is  this  inhuman  persecu- 
tor?" said  Temple. 

"He  has  been  abroad  ever  since,"  re- 
plied the  old  man;  "but  he  has  left  or- 
ders with  his  lawyer  never  to  give  up  the 
note  until  the  utmost  farthing  is  paid." 

"And  how  much  is  the  amount  of 
your  debts  in  all?"  said  Temple. 

"Five  hundred  pounds,"  he  replied. 

Temple  started;  it  was  more  than  he 
expected. 

"But  something  must  be  done,"  said 
he:  "that  sweet  maid  must  not  wear  out 
her  life  in  a  prison.  I  will  see  you  again 
to-morrow,  my  friend,"  said  he,  shaking 
Eldridge's  hand:  "keep  up  your  spirits; 
light  and  shade  are  not  more  happily 
blended  than  are  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  life;  and  the  horrors  of  the  one  serve 

34 


Cbange  of  fortune 

only  to  increase  the  splendor  of  the 
other." 

"  You  never  lost  a  wife  and  son,"  said 
Eldridge. 

"No,"  replied  he,  "but  I  can  feel  for 
those  that  have." 

Eldridge  pressed  his  hand,  as  they 
went  toward  the  door,  and  they  parted 
in  silence. 

When  they  got  without  the  walls  of 
the  prison,  Temple  thanked  his  friend 
Blakeney1  for  introducing  him  to  so 
worthy  a  character;  and,  telling  him  he 
had  a  particular  engagement  in  the  city, 
wished  him  a  good-evening. 

"And  what  is  to  be  done  for  this  dis- 
tressed man?"  said  Temple,  as  he  walk- 


1  If  there  be  a  hero  in  "  Charlotte  Temple "  and 
"Lucy  Temple,"  it  is  Blakeney,  and  yet  this  is  the  last 
that  the  reader  sees  of  him.  There  is  something  fine 
in  a  romance  which  makes  of  the  man  who  thus  brought 
together  Henry  Temple  and  Lucy  Eldridge,  the  bene- 
factor, a  quarter  of  a  century  afterward,  of  the  daugh- 
ter of  their  unfortunate  child,  Charlotte.  The  reader 
wishes  to  know  more  of  him.  We  must  find  in  the 
absence  of  further  information  new  evidence  of  the 
fidelity  with  which  the  author  conformed  her  narrative 
to  events  that  had  actually  taken  place. 

35 


Cbatlotte  TTempie 

ed  up  Ludgate  Hill.  "  Would  to  Heaven 
I  had  a  fortune  that  would  enable  me  in- 
stantly to  discharge  his  debt:  what  ex- 
quisite transport,  to  see  the  expressive 
eyes  of  Lucy  beaming  at  once  with 
pleasure  for  her  father's  deliverance  and 
gratitude  for  her  deliverer:  but  is  not 
my  fortune  affluence/'  continued  he,  "nay 
superfluous  wealth,  when  compared  to 
the  extreme  indigence  of  Eldridge;  and 
what  have  I  done  to  deserve  ease  and 
plenty,  while  a  brave  worthy  officer 
starves  in  a  prison?  Three  hundred  a 
year  is  surely  sufficient  for  all  my  wants 
and  wishes;  at  any  rate,  Eldridge  must 
be  relieved." 

When  the  heart  has  will,  the  hands 
can  soon  find  means  to  execute  a  good 
action. 

Temple  was  a  young  man,  his  feelings 
warm  and  impetuous;  unacquainted  with 
the  world,  his  heart  had  not  been  ren- 
dered callous  by  being  convinced  of  its 
fraud  and  hypocrisy.  He  pitied  their 

36 


Gbange  of  ffortune 

sufferings,  overlooked  their  faults, 
thought  every  bosom  as  generous  as  his 
own,  and  would  cheerfully  have  divided 
his  last  guinea  with  an  unfortunate  fel- 
low creature. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  such  a  man 
(without  waiting  a  moment  for  the  in- 
terference of  Madame  Prudence)  should 
resolve  to  raise  money  sufficient  for  the 
relief  of  Eldridge,  by  mortgaging  part 
of  his  fortune. 

We  will  not  enquire  too  minutely  into 
the  cause  which  might  actuate  him  in 
this  instance:  suffice  it  to  say,  he  im- 
mediately put  the  plan  in  execution;  and 
in  three  days  from  the  time  he  first 
saw  the  unfortunate  lieutenant,  he  had 
the  superlative  felicity  of  seeing  him  at 
liberty,  and  receiving  an  ample  reward 
in  the  tearful  eye  and  half-articulated 
thanks  of  the  grateful  Lucy. 

"And  pray,  young  man,"  said  his 
father  to  him  one  morning,  "what  are 

37 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

your  designs  in  visiting  thus  constantly 
that  old  man  and  his  daughter  ?  " 

Temple  was  at  a  loss  for  a  reply:  he 
had  never  asked  himself  the  question :  he 
hesitated,  and  his  father  continued — 

"  It  was  not  till  within  these  few  days 
that  I  heard  in  what  manner  your  ac- 
quaintance first  commenced,  and  can 
not  suppose  anything  but  attachment  to 
the  daughter  could  carry  you  such  im- 
prudent lengths  for  the  father:  it  cer- 
tainly must  be  her  art  that  drew  you  into 
mortgage  [sic]  part  of  your  fortune." 

"Art,  sir!"  cried  Temple,  eagerly. 
"  Lucy  Eldridge  is  as  free  from  art  as  she 
is  from  every  other  error:  she  is " 

"Everything  that  is  amiable  and  love- 
ly," said  his  father,  interrupting  him, 
ironically:  "no  doubt,  in  your  opinion, 
she  is  a  pattern  of  excellence  for  all  her 
sex  to  follow ;  but  come,  sir,  pray  tell  me, 
what  are  your  designs  toward  this  para- 
gon? I  hope  you  do  not  intend  to  com- 
plete your  folly  by  marrying  her." 

38 


Sucb  TTbinos  Hre 


"Were  my  fortune  such  as  would  sup- 
port her  according  to  her  merit,  I  don't 
know  a  woman  more  formed  to  insure 
happiness  in  the  marriage  state." 

"Then,  prithee,  my  dear  lad,"  said 
his  father,  "since  your  rank  and  fortune 
are  so  much  beneath  what  your  Princess 
might  expect,  be  so  kind  as  to  turn  your 
eyes  on  Miss  Weatherby,  who,  having 
only  an  estate  of  three  thousand  a  year, 
is  more  upon  a  level  with  you,  and  whose 
father  yesterday  solicited  the  mighty 
honor  of  your  alliance.  I  shall  leave  you 
to  consider  on  this  offer,  and  pray  remem- 
ber that  your  union  with  Miss  Weather- 
by  will  put  it  in  your  power  to  be  more 
liberally  the  friend  of  Lucy  Eldridge." 

The  old  gentleman  walked  in  a  stately 
manner  out  of  the  room,  and  Temple 
stood  almost  petrified  with  astonishment, 
contempt  and  rage.  . 


39 


CHAPTER  V 

SUCH  THINGS  ARE 

Miss  WEATHERBY  was  the  only  child 
of  a  wealthy  man,  almost  idolized  by  her 
parents,  flattered  by  her  dependents,  and 
never  contradicted,  even  by  those  who 
called  themselves  her  friends:  I  can  not 
give  a  better  description  than  by  the  fol- 
lowing lines: 

The  lovely  maid  whose  form  and  face 
Nature  has  deck'd  with,  every  grace, 
But  in  whose  breast  no  virtues  glow, 

Whose  heart  ne'er  felt  another's  woe, 
Whose  hand  ne'er  smooth'd  the  bed  of  pain, 
Or  eas'd  the  captive's  galling  chain ; 

But  like  the  tulip  caught  the  eye, 
Born  just  to  be  admir'd  and  die ; 
When  gone,  no  one  regrets  its  loss, 
Or  scarce  remembers  that  it  was.1 

Such  was  Miss  Weatherby:  her  form 


1  These  lines  seem  to  be  original  with  Mrs.  Rowson. 
40 


Sucb  Ubfnss  Hre 


lovely  as  nature  could  make  it,  but  her 
mind  uncultivated,  her  heart  unfeeling, 
her  passions  impetuous,  and  her  brain 
almost  turned  with  flattery,  dissipation, 
and  pleasure;  and  such  was  the  girl 
whom  a  partial  grandfather  left  inde- 
pendent mistress  of  the  fortune  before 
mentioned. 

She  had  seen  Temple  frequently;  and 
fancying  she  could  never  be  happy  with- 
out him,  nor  once  imagining  he  could 
refuse  a  girl  of  her  beauty  and  fortune, 
she  prevailed  on  her  fond  father  to  offer 
the  alliance  to  the  old1  Earl  of  D  -  , 
Mr.  Temple's  father. 

The  earl  had  received  the  offer  court- 


1  The  word  "  old  "  in  this  paragraph  does  not  appear 
in  late  editions.  It  it  now  restored  to  its  place  from 
the  original  American  text.  When  Mrs.  Rowson  was 
writing  her  story,  the  living  Earl  of  Derby  had  held  the 
title  about  thirteen  years,  and  was  then  thirty-seven 
years  old.  The  "  old  Earl "  was  his  grandfather,  Ed- 
ward Stanley,  who  had  held  the  title  forty-two  years, 
and  died  in  1776,  at  the  age  of  eighty-seven.  One  of 
the  "  old  Earl's  "  daughters,  named  Charlotte,  was  the 
wife  of  General  Burgoyne,  of  the  Revolution.  The 
Charlotte  Stanley  who  is  believed  to  have  been  buried  in 
Trinity  churchyard  appears,  therefore,  to  have  borne  the 
name  of  her  father's  sister.  See  Burke's  "  Peerage." 

41 


Cbarlotte  ZTemple 

eously:  he  thought  it  a  great  match  for 
Henry;  and  was  too  fashionable  a  man 
to  suppose  a  wife  could  be  any  impedi- 
ment to  the  friendship  he  professed  for 
Eldridge  and  his  daughter. 

Unfortunately  for  Temple,  he  thought 
quite  otherwise:  the  conversation  he  had 
just  had  with  his  father  discovered  to  him 
the  situation  of  his  heart;  and  he  found 
that  the  most  affluent  fortune  would 
bring  no  increase  of  happiness,  unless 
Lucy  Eldridge  shared  it  with  him ;  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  purity  of  her  senti- 
ments and  the  integrity  of  his  own  heart, 
made  him  shudder  at  the  idea  his  father 
had  started,  of  marrying  a  woman  for  no 
other  reason  than  because  the  affluence  of 
her  fortune  would  enable  him  to  injure 
her  by  maintaining  in  splendor  the  wo- 
man to  whom  his  heart  was  devoted: 
he  therefore  resolved  to  refuse  Miss 
Weatherby,  and,  be  the  event  what  it 
might,  offer  his  heart  and  hand  to  Lucy 
Eldridge. 

42 


Sucb  Ubtngs  Ere 

Full  of  this  determination,  he  sought 
his  father,  declared  his  resolution,  and 
was  commanded  never  more  to  appear  in 
his  presence.  Temple  bowed;  his  heart 
was  too  full  to  permit  him  to  speak;  he 
left  the  house  precipitately,  and  hastened 
to  relate  the  cause  of  his  sorrows  to  his 
good  old  friend  and  his  amiable  daughter. 

In  the  meantime,  the  earl,  vexed  to 
the  soul  that  such  a  fortune  should  be 
lost,  determined  to  offer  himself  a  candi- 
date for  Miss  Weatherby's  favor. 

What  wonderful  changes  are  wrought 
by  that  reigning  power,  ambition!  The 
love-sick  girl,  when  first  she  heard  of 
Temple's  refusal,  wept,  raved,  tore  her 
hair,  and  vowed  to  found  a  Protestant 
nunnery  with  her  fortune;  and  by  com- 
mencing abbess,  shut  herself  up  from  the 
sight  of  cruel,  ungrateful  man  forever. 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  the  world:  he 

suffered  this  first  transport  to  subside,  and 

then  very  deliberately  unfolded  to  her  the 

offers  of  the  old  earl,  expatiated  on  the 

43 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

many  benefits  arising  from  an  elevated 
title,  painted  in  glowing  colors  the  sur- 
prise and  vexation  of  Temple  when  he 
should  see  her  figuring  as  a  countess  and 
his  mother-in-law  [sic],  and  begged  her 
to  consider  well  before  she  made  any 
rash  vows. 

The  distressed  fair  one  dried  her  tears, 
listened  patiently,  and  at  length  declared 
she  believed  the  surest  method  to  re- 
venge the  slight  put  on  her  by  the  son, 
would  be  to  accept  the  father:  so  said 
so  done,  and  in  a  few  days  she  became 
the  Countess  D . 

Temple  heard  the  news  with  emotion: 
he  had  lost  his  father's  favor  by  avowing 
his  passion  for  Lucy,  and  he  saw  now 
there  was  no  hope  of  regaining  it.  "  But 
he  shall  not  make  me  miserable,"  said 
he.  "Lucy  and  I  have  no  ambitious  no- 
tions; we  can  live  on  three  hundred  a 
year  for  some  little  time,  till  the  mort- 
gage is  paid  off,  and  then  we  shall  have 
sufficient  not  only  for  the  comforts,  but 
44 


Sucb  Ubinfls  Hre 

many  of  the  little  elegancies  of  life.  We 
will  purchase  a  little  cottage,  my  Lucy," 
said  he,  "  and  thither  with  your  reverend 
father,  we  will  retire;  we  will  forget 
there  are  such  things  as  splendor,  pro- 
fusion, and  dissipation:  we  will  have 
some  cows,  and  you  shall  be  queen  of  the 
dairy;  in  the  morning,  while  I  look  after 
my  garden,  you  shall  take  a  basket  on 
your  arm,  and  sally  forth  to  feed  your 
poultry;  and  as  they  flutter  round  you  in 
token  of  humble  gratitude,  your  father 
shall  smoke  his  pipe  in  a  woodbine  alcove, 
and  viewing  the  serenity  of  your  counte- 
nance, feel  such  real  pleasure  dilate  his 
own  heart  as  shall  make  him  forget  he 
had  ever  been  unhappy." 

Lucy  smiled,  and  Temple  saw  it  was 
the  smile  of  approbation.  He  sought 
and  found  a  cottage  suited  to  his  taste; 
thither,  attended  by  Love  and  Hymen, 
the  happy  trio  retired;  where,  during 
many  years  of  uninterrupted  felicity,  they 
cast  not  a  wish  beyond  the  little  boun- 
45 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

daries  of  their  own  tenement.  Plenty, 
and  her  hand-maid,  Prudence,  presided 
at  their  board;  Hospitality  stood  at 
their  gate;  Peace  smiled  on  each  face, 
Content  reigned  in  each  heart,  and  Love 
and  Health  strewed  roses  on  their  pillows. 
Such  were  the  parents  of  Charlotte 
Temple,  who  was  the  only  pledge  of 
their  mutual  love,  and  who,  at  the  ear- 
nest entreaty  of  a  particular  friend,  was 
permitted  to  finish  the  education  her 
mother  had  begun,  at  Madame  Du 
Font's  school,  where  we  first  introduced 
her  to  the  acquaintance  of  the  reader. 


46 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  INTRIGUING  TEACHER 

MADAME  Du  PONT  was  a  woman 
every  way  calculated  to  take  the  care  of 
young  ladies,  had  that  care  entirely  de- 
volved on  herself;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  attend  the  education  of  a  numerous 
school  without  proper  assistants;  and 
those  assistants  were  not  always  the  kind 
of  people  whose  conversation  and  morals 
were  exactly  such  as  parents  of  delicacy 
and  refinement  would  wish  a  daughter 
to  copy. 

Among  the  teachers  at  Madame  Du 
Font's  school  was  Mademoiselle  La  Rue, 
who  added  to  a  pleasing  person  and  in- 
sinuating address,  a  liberal  education  and 
the  manners  of  a  gentlewoman.  She 
was  recommended  to  the  school  by  a  lady 

47 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

whose  humanity  overstepped  the  bounds 
of  discretion;  for,  tho  she  knew  Miss 
La  Rue  had  eloped  from  a  convent  with 
a  young  officer, .and  on  coming  to  Eng- 
land had  lived  with  several  different  men 
in  open  defiance  of  all  moral  and  re- 
ligious duties;  yet,  finding  her  reduced 
to  the  most  abject  want,  and  believing 
the  penitence  which  she  professed  to  be 
sincere,  she  took  her  into  her  own  family, 
and  from  thence  recommended  her  to 
Madame  Du  Pont,  as  thinking  the  situ- 
ation more  suitable  for  a  woman  of  her 
abilities. 

But  mademoiselle  possessed  too  much 
of  the  spirit  of  intrigue  to  remain  long 
without  adventures.  At  church,  where 
she  constantly  appeared,  her  person  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  a  young  man 
who  was  upon  a  visit  at  a  gentleman's 
seat  in  the  neighborhood:  she  had  met 
him  several  times  clandestinely;  and  be- 
ing invited  to  come  out  that  evening  and 
eat  some  fruit  and  pastry  in  a  summer- 
48 


Hn  1Tntri0utn0  Ueacber 


house  belonging  to  the  gentleman  he  was 
visiting,  and  requested  to  bring  some  of 
the  ladies  with  her,  Charlotte,  being  her 
favorite,  was  fixed  on  to  accompany  her. 

The  mind  of  youth  eagerly  catches  at 
promised  pleasure:  pure  and  innocent 
by  nature,  it  thinks  not  of  the  dangers 
lurking  beneath  those  pleasures  till  too 
late  to  avoid  them:  when  mademoiselle 
asked  Charlotte  to  go  with  her,  she  men- 
tioned the  gentleman  as  a  relation,  and 
spoke  in  such  high  terms  of  the  elegance 
of  his  gardens,  the  sprightliness  of  his 
conversation,  and  the  liberality  with 
which  he  ever  entertained  his  guests, 
that  Charlotte  thought  only  of  the  pleas- 
ure she  should  enjoy  in  the  visit, — not  on 
the  imprudence  of  going  without  her 
governess'  knowledge,  or  of  the  danger 
to  which  she  exposed  herself  in  visiting 
the  house  of  a  gay  young  man  of  fashion. 

Madame  Du  Pont  was  gone  out  for 
the  evening,  and  the  rest  of  the  ladies 
retired  to  rest,  when  Charlotte  and  the 
49 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

teacher  stole  out  of  the  back  gate,  and 
in  crossing  the  field,  were  accosted  by 
Montraville,  as  mentioned  in  the  first 
chapter. 

Charlotte  was  disappointed  in  the 
pleasure  she  had  promised  herself  from 
this  visit.  The  levity  of  the  gentlemen 
and  the  freedom  of  their  conversation 
disgusted  her.  She  was  astonished  at 
the  liberties  mademoiselle  permitted  them 
to  take ;  grew  thoughtful  and  uneasy,  and 
heartily  wished  herself  at  home  again, 
in  her  own  chamber. 

Perhaps  one  cause  of  that  wish  might 
be  an  earnest  desire  to  see  the  contents  of 
the  letter  which  had  been  put  into  her 
hand  by  Montraville. 

Any  reader,  who  has  the  least  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  will  easily  imagine  the 
letter  was  made  up  of  encomiums  on  her 
beauty,  and  vows  of  everlasting  love  and 
constancy;  nor  will  he  be  surprised  that 
a  heart  open  to  every  gentle,  generous 

50 


Hn  IFntrfgutna  Ueacber 


sentiment,  should  feel  itself  warmed  by 
gratitude  for  a  man  who  professed  to  feel 
so  much  for  her;  nor  is  it  improbable  but 
her  mind  might  revert  to  the  agreeable 
person  and  martial  appearance  of  Mon- 
traville. 

In  affairs  of  love,  a  young  heart  is 
never  in  more  danger  than  when  at- 
tempted by  a  handsome  young  soldier. 
A  man  of  an  indifferent  appearance  will, 
when  arrayed  in  a  military  habit,  show  to 
advantage,  but  when  beauty  of  person, 
elegance  of  manner,  and  an  easy  method 
of  paying  compliments  are  united  to  the 
scarlet  coat,  smart  cockade,  and  military 
sash,  ah!  well-a-day  for  the  poor  girl 
who  gazes  on  him:  she  is  in  imminent 
danger;  but  if  she  listens  to  him  with 
pleasure,  'tis  all  over  with  her,  and  from 
that  moment  she  has  neither  eyes  nor 
ears  for  any  other  object. 

Now,  my  dear  sober  matron,  (if  a 
sober  matron  should  deign  to  turn  over 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

these  pages  before  she  trusts  them  to  the 
eye  of  a  darling  daughter,)  let  me  en- 
treat you  not  to  put  on  a  grave  face  and 
throw  down  the  book  in  a  passion,  and 
declare  'tis  enough  to  turn  the  heads  of 
half  the  girls  in  England;  I  do  solemnly 
protest,  my  dear  madam,  I  mean  no  more 
by  what  I  have  here  advanced  than  to 
ridicule  those  romantic  girls  who  fool- 
ishly imagine  a  red  coat  and  silver  epau- 
let constitute  the  fine  gentleman;  and 
should  that  fine  gentleman  make  half  a 
dozen  fine  speeches  to  them  they  will 
imagine  themselves  so  much  in  love  as 
to  fancy  it  a  meritorious  action  to  jump 
out  of  a  two-pair  of  stairs  window,  aban- 
don their  friends,  and  trust  entirely  to  the 
honor  of  a  man  who,  perhaps,  hardly 
knows  the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  if 
he  does,  will  be  too  much  the  modern 
man  of  refinement  to  practise  it  in  their 
favor. 

Gracious  Heaven !  when  I  think  on  the 


Hn  fntrigutng  Ueacber 


miseries  that  must  rend  the  heart  of  a 
doting  parent,  when  he  sees  the  darling 
of  his  age  at  first  seduced  from  his  pro- 
tection, and  afterward  abandoned  by  the 
very  wretch  whose  promises  of  love  de- 
coyed her  from  the  paternal  roof — when 
he  sees  her  poor  and  wretched,  her  bosom 
torn  between  remorse  for  her  crime  and 
love  for  her  vile  betrayer — when  fancy 
paints  to  me  the  good  old  man  stooping 
to  raise  the  weeping  penitent,  while  every 
tear  from  her  eye  is  numbered  by  drops 
from  his  bleeding  heart,  my  bosom  glows 
with  honest  indignation,  and  I  wish  for 
power  to  extirpate  those  monsters  of  se- 
duction from  the  earth. 

Oh,  my  dear  girls — for  to  such  only 
am  I  writing — listen  not  to  the  voice  of 
love,  unless  sanctioned  by  paternal  ap- 
probation: be  assured,  it  is  now  past  the 
days  of  romance:  no  woman  can  be  run 
away  with  contrary  to  her  own  inclina- 
tion: then  kneel  down  each  morning  and 
request  kind  Heaven  to  keep  you  free 

53 


Cbariotte  TTemple 

from  temptation,  or  should  it  please  to 
suffer  you  to  be  tried,  pray  for  fortitude 
to  resist  the  impulse  of  inclination,  when 
it  runs  counter  to  the  precepts  of  religion 
and  virtue. 


,54 


CHAPTER  VII 

NATURAL    SENSE    OF   PROPRIETY    INHER- 
ENT  IN   THE  FEMALE   BOSOM 

"  I  CAN  NOT  think  we  have  done  exactly 
right  in  going  out  this  evening,  made- 
moiselle," said  Charlotte,  seating  herself, 
when  she  entered  her  apartment:  "nay, 
I  am  sure  it  was  not  right ;  for  I  expected 
to  be  very  happy,  but  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed." 

"It  was  your  own  fault,  then,"  replied 
mademoiselle:  "for  I  am  sure  my  cousin 
omitted  nothing  that  could  serve  to  ren- 
der the  evening  agreeable." 

"True,"  said  Charlotte:  "but  I  thought 
the  gentlemen  were  very  free  in  their 
manner:  I  wonder  you  would  suffer  them 
to  behave  as  they  did." 

"  Prithee,  don't  be  such  a  foolish  little 
prude,"  said  the  artful  woman,  affecting 

55 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

anger:  "I  invited  you  to  go,  in  hopes  it 
would  divert  you,  and  be  an  agreeable 
change  of  scene;  however,  if  your  del- 
icacy was  hurt  by  the  behavior  of  the 
gentlemen,  you  need  not  go  again;  so 
there  let  it  rest." 

"I  do  not  intend  to  go  again,"  said 
Charlotte,  gravely,  taking  off  her  bon- 
net, and  beginning  to  prepare  for  bed: 
"  I  am  sure,  if  Madame  Du  Pont  knew 
we  had  been  out  to-night,  she  would  be 
very  angry;  and  it  is  ten  to  one  but  she 
hears  of  it  by  some  means  or  other." 

"Nay,  miss,"  said  La  Rue,  "perhaps 
your  mighty  sense  of  propriety  may  lead 
you  to  tell  her  yourself:  and  in  order 
to  avoid  the  censure  you  would  incur, 
should  she  hear  of  it  by  accident,  throw 
the  blame  on  me :  but  I  confess  I  deserve 
it:  it  will  be  a  very  kind  return  for  that 
partiality  which  led  me  to  prefer  you  be- 
fore any  of  the  rest  of  the  ladies;  but 
perhaps  it  will  give  you  pleasure,"  con- 
tinued she,  letting  fall  some  hypocritical 

,56 


Sense  of  propriety 


tears,  "to  see  me  deprived  of  bread,  and 
for  an  action  which  by  the  most  rigid 
could  only  be  esteemed  an  inadvertency, 
lose  my  place  and  character,  and  be 
driven  again  into  the  world,  where  I 
have  already  suffered  all  the  evils  attend- 
ant on  poverty." 

This  was  touching  Charlotte  in  the 
most  vulnerable  part:  she  rose  from  her 
seat,  and  taking  mademoiselle's  hand — 
"  You  know,  my  dear  La  Rue,"  said  she, 
"I  love  you  too  well  to  do  anything  that 
would  injure  you  in  my  governess'  opin- 
ion: I  am  only  sorry  we  went  out  this 
evening." 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Charlotte,"  said 
she,  assuming  a  little  vivacity;  "for,  if 
you  had  not  gone  out,  you  would  not 
have  seen  the  gentleman  who  met  us 
crossing  the  field,  and  I  rather  think  you 
were  pleased  with  his  conversation." 

"I  had  seen  him  once  before,"  replied 
Charlotte,  "and  thought  him  an  agree- 
able man,  and  you  know  one  is  always 

57 


Cbarlotte  tTempie 

pleased  to  see  a  person  with  whom  one 
has  passed  several  cheerful  hours.  But," 
said  she  pausing  and  drawing  a  letter 
from  her  pocket,  while  a  general  suffu- 
sion of  vermilion  tinged  her  neck  and 
face,  "he  gave  me  this  letter;  what  shall 
I  do  with  it?" 

"Read  it,  to  be  sure,"  returned  made- 
moiselle. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not,"  said  Char- 
lotte: "my  mother  has  often  -told  me 
I  should  never  read  a  letter  given  me  by 
a  young  man  without  first  giving  it  to 
her." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  girl ! "  cried 
the  teacher,  smiling,  "have  you  a  mind 
to  be  in  leading  strings  all  your  lifetime. 
Prithee,  open  the  letter,  read  it,  and 
judge  for  yourself;  if  you  show  it  your 
mother,  the  consequence  will  be,  you  will 
be  taken  from  school,  and  a  strict  guard 
kept  over  you;  so  you  will  stand  no 
chance  of  ever  seeing  the  smart  young 
officer  again." 

58 


Sense  of  propriety 


"  I  should  not  like  to  leave  school  yet/' 
replied  Charlotte,  "till  I  have  attained  a 
greater  proficiency  in  my  Italian  and 
music.  But  you  can,  if  you  please,  made- 
moiselle, take  the  letter  back  to  Montra- 
ville,  and  tell  him  I  wish  him  well,  but 
can  not,  with  any  propriety,  enter  into 
a  clandestine  correspondence  with  him." 

She  laid  the  letter  on  the  table,  and 
began  to  undress  herself. 

"  Well,"  said  La  Rue,  "  I  vow  you  are 
an  unaccountable  girl:  have  you  no  curi- 
osity to  see  the  inside  now  ?  For  my  part, 
I  could  no  more  let  a  letter  addressed 
to  me  lie  unopened  so  long  than  I  could 
work  miracles:  he  writes  a  good  hand," 
continued  she,  turning  the  letter  to  look 
at  the  superscription. 

'Tis    well    enough,"    said    Charlotte, 
drawing  it  toward  her. 

"He  is  a  genteel  young  fellow,"  said 
La  Rue,  carelessly,  folding  up  her  apron 
at  the  same  time;  "but  I  thmk  he  is 
marked  with  the  smallpox." 

59 


Cbarlotte  tTemple 

"Oh,  you  are  greatly  mistaken/'  said 
Charlotte,  eagerly;  "he  has  a  remark- 
able clear  skin  and  fine  complexion. 

"His  eyes,  if  I  could  judge  by  what 
I  saw,"  said  La  Rue,  "are  gray,  and 
want  expression." 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Charlotte; 
"they  are  the  most  expressive  eyes  I 


ever  saw." 


"Well,  child,  whether  they  are  gray 
or  black  is  of  no  consequence:  you  have 
determined  not  to  read  his  letter;  so  it  is 
likely  you  will  never  either  see  or  hear 
from  him  again." 

Charlotte  took  up  the  letter,  and  made- 
moiselle continued — 

"He  is  most  probably  going  to  Amer- 
ica; and  if  ever  you  should  hear  any  ac- 
count of  him  it  may  possibly  be  that  he 
is  killed;  and  tho  he  loved  you  ever  so 
fervently,  tho  his  last  breath  should  be 
spent  in  a  prayer  for  your  happiness,  it 
can  be  nothing  to  you:  you  can  feel 
nothing  for  the  fate  of  the  man  whose 

•60 


Sense  of  propriety 


letters  you  will  not  open,  and  whose  suf- 
ferings you  will  not  alleviate,  by  permit- 
ting him  to  think  you  would  remember 
him  when  absent  and  pray  for  his  safety." 

Charlotte  still  held  the  letter  in  her 
hand:  her  heart  swelled  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  mademoiselle's  speech,  and  a  tear 
dropped  upon  the  wafer  that  closed  it. 

"The  wafer  is  not  dry  yet/'  said  she, 
"and  sure  there  can  be  no  great 

harm "  She  hesitated.  La  Rue  was 

silent.  "I  may  read  it,  mademoiselle, 
and  return  it  afterward." 

"Certainly,"   replied   mademoiselle. 

"At  any  rate,  I  am  determined  not  to 
answer  it,"  continued  Charlotte,  as  she 
opened  the  letter. 

Here  let  me  stop  to  make  one  remark, 
and  trust  me,  my  very  heart  aches  while 
I  write  it;  but  certain  I  am  that  when 
once  a  woman  has  stifled  the  sense  of 
shame  in  her  own  bosom,  when  once 
she  has  lost  sight  of  the  basis  on  which 
reputation,  honor,  everything  that  should 
61 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

be  dear  to  the  female  heart,  rests,  she 
grows  hardened  in  guilt,  and  will  spare 
no  pains  to  bring  down  innocence  and 
beauty  to  the  shocking  level  with  herself : 
and  this  proceeds  from  that  diabolical 
spirit  of  envy  which  repines  at  seeing 
another  in  the  full  possession  of  that 
respect  and  esteem  which  she  can  no 
longer  hope  to  enjoy. 

Mademoiselle  eyed  the  unsuspecting 
Charlotte,  as  she  perused  the  letter,  with 
a  malignant  pleasure.  She  saw  that  the 
contents  had  awakened  new  emotions  in 
her  youthful  bosom:  she  encouraged  her 
hopes,  calmed  her  fears,  and  before  they 
parted  for  the  night,  it  was  determined 
that  she  should  meet  Montraville  the  en- 
suing evening. 


62 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DOMESTIC  PLEASURES  PLANNED 

"I  THINK,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, laying  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
arm,  as  they  were  walking  together  in 
the  garden,  "I  think  next  Wednesday 
is  Charlotte's  birthday:  now,  I  have 
formed  a  little  scheme  in  my  own  mind 
to  give  her  an  agreeable  surprise;  and  if 
you  have  no  objection,  we  will  send  for 
her  home  on  that  day." 

Temple  pressed  his  wife's  hand  in  to- 
ken of  approbation,  and  she  proceeded— 

'You  know  the  little  alcove  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  of  which  Char- 
lotte is  so  fond?  I  have  an  inclination 
to  deck  this  out  in  a  fanciful  manner,  and 
invite  all  her  little  friends  to  partake 
of  a  collation  of  fruit,  sweetmeats,  and 

63 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

other  things  suitable  to  the  general  taste 
of  young  guests,  and  to  make  it  more 
pleasing  to  Charlotte,  she  shall  be  mis- 
tress of  the  feast,  and  entertain  her  visit- 
ors in  this  alcove.  I  know  she  will 
be  delighted,  and,  to  complete  all,  they 
shall  have  some  music,  and  finish  with  a 
dance." 

"A  very  fine  plan,  indeed,"  said  Tem- 
ple, smiling;  "and  you  really  suppose  I 
will  wink  at  your  indulging  the  girl  in 
this  manner?  You  will  quite  spoil  her, 
Lucy;  indeed  you  will." 

"  She  is  the  only  child  we  have,"  said 
Mrs.  Temple,  the  whole  tenderness  of  a 
mother  adding  animation  to  her  fine 
countenance;  but  it  was  withal  tempered 
so  sweetly  with  the  meek  affection  and 
submissive  duty  of  the  wife,  that  as  she 
paused,  expecting  her  husband's  answer, 
he  gazed  at  her  tenderly,  and  found  he 
was  unable  to  refuse  her  request. 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Temple. 

"She    is,    indeed,"    replied    the    fond 

64 


pleasures 


mother,  exultingly,  "a  grateful,  affec- 
tionate girl;  and  I  am  sure  will  never 
lose  sight  of  the  duty  she  owes  her 
parents." 

"If  she  does,"  said  he,  "she  must  for- 
get the  example  set  her  by  the  best  of 
mothers." 

Mrs.  Temple  could  not  reply;  but  the 
delightful  sensation  that  dilated  her 
heart  sparkled  in  her  intelligent  eyes  and 
heightened  the  vermillion  on  her  cheeks. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  of  which  the  hu- 
man mind  is  sensible,  there  is  none  equal 
to  that  which  warms  and  expands  the 
bosom  when  listening  to  commendations 
bestowed  on  us  by  a  beloved  object,  and 
are  conscious  of  having  deserved  them. 

Ye  giddy  flutterers  in  the  fantastic 
round  of  dissipation,  who  eagerly  seek 
pleasure  in  the  lofty  dome,  rich  treat, 
and  midnight  revel — tell  me,  ye  thought- 
less daughters  of  folly,  have  ye  ever 
found  the  phantom  you  have  so  long 

65 


Cbarlotte  temple 

sought  with  such  unremitted  assiduity? 
Has  she  not  always  eluded  your  grasp, 
and  when  you  have  reached  your  hand 
to  take  the  cup  she  extends  to  her  de- 
luded votaries,  have  you  not  found  the 
long-expected  draught  strongly  tinctured 
with  the  bitter  dregs  of  disappointment? 
I  know  you  have:  I  see  it  in  the  wan 
cheek,  sunk  eye,  and  air  of  chagrin, 
which  ever  mark  the  children  of  dissi- 
pation. Pleasure  is  a  vain  illusion;  she 
draws  you  on  to  a  thousand  follies, 
errors,  and,  I  may  say,  vices,  and  then 
leaves  you  to  deplore  your  thoughtless 
credulity. 

Look,  my  dear  friends,  at  yonder  lovely 
Virgin,  arrayed  in  a  white  robe,  devoid 
of  ornament;  behold  the  meekness  of 
her  countenance,  the  modesty  of  her 
gait;  her  handmaids  are  Humility,  Filial 
Piety,  Conjugal  Affection,  Industry  and 
Benevolence;  her  name  is  Content;  she 
holds  in  her  hand  the  cup  of  true  felic- 

66 


pleasures  planned 


ity,  and  when  once  you  have  formed  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  these  her  at- 
tendants, nay,  you  must  admit  them  as 
your  bosom  friends  and  chief  counsellors, 
then,  whatever  may  be  your  situation  in 
life,  the  meek-eyed  Virgin  will  immedi- 
ately take  up  her  abode  with  you. 

Is  poverty  your  portion? — she  will 
lighten  your  labors,  preside  at  your  fru- 
gal board,  and  watch  your  quiet  slum- 
bers. 

Is  your  state  mediocrity? — she  will 
heighten  every  blessing  you  enjoy,  by  in- 
forming you  how  grateful  you  should  be 
to  that  bountiful  Providence,  who  might 
have  placed  you  in  the  most  abject  situ- 
ation ;  and  by  teaching  you  to  weigh  your 
blessings  against  your  deserts,  show  you 
how  much  more  you  receive  than  you 
have  a  right  to  expect. 

Are  you  possessed  of  affluence? — what 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  happiness  she 
will  lay  before  you!  To  relieve  the  dis- 
tressed, redress  the  injured — in  short  to 

67 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

perform  all  the  good  works  of  peace  and 
mercy. 

Content,  my  dear  friends,  will  blunt 
even  the  arrows  of  adversity,  so  that  they 
can  not  materially  harm  you.  She  will 
dwell  in  the  humblest  cottage;  she  will 
attend  you  even  to  a  prison;  her  parent 
is  Religion;  her  sisters,  Patience  and 
Hope.  She  will  pass  with  you  through 
life,  smoothing  the  rough  paths,  and 
tread  to  earth  those  thorns  which  every 
one  must  meet  with  as  they  journey  on- 
ward to  the  appointed  goal.  She  will 
soften  the  pains  of  sickness,  continue 
with  you  even  in  the  cold,  gloomy  hour 
of  death,  and  cheering  you  with  the 
smiles  of  her  heaven-born  sister,  Hope, 
will  lead  you  triumphant  to  a  blissful 
eternity. 

I  confess  I  have  rambled  strangely 
from  my  story:  but  what  of  that?  If  I 
have  been  so  lucky  as  to  find  the  road  to 
happiness,  why  should  I  be  such  a  nig- 
gard as  to  omit  so  good  an  opportunity 
68 


pleasures  planned 


of  pointing  out  the  way  to  others.  The 
very  basis  of  true  peace  of  mind  is  a 
benevolent  wish  to  see  all  the  world 
as  happy  as  one's  self;  and  from  my  soul 
do  I  pity  the  selfish  churl,  who,  remem- 
bering the  little  bickerings  of  anger, 
envy,  and  fifty  other  disagreeables  to 
which  frail  mortality  is  subject,  would 
wish  to  revenge  the  affront  which  pride 
whispers  him  he  has  received.  For  my 
own  part,  I  can  safely  declare,  there  is 
not  a  human  being  in  the  universe  whose 
prosperity  I  should  not  rejoice  in,  and  to 
whose  happiness  I  would  not  contribute 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  my  power :  and  may 
my  offenses  be  no  more  remembered  in 
the  day  of  general  retribution,  than  as 
from  my  soul  I  forgive  every  offense  or 
injury  received  from  a  fellow  creature. 

Merciful  Heaven!  who  would  ex- 
change the  rapture  of  such  a  reflection 
for  all  the  gaudy  tinsel  which  the  world 
calls  pleasure! 

69 


Cbarlotte  ZTemple 

But  to  return — Content  dwelt  in  Mrs. 
Temple's  bosom,  and  spread  a  charming 
animation  over  her  countenance,  as  her 
husband  led  her  in,  to  lay  the  plan  she 
had  formed  (for  the  celebration  of  Char- 
lotte's birthday)  before  Mr.  Eldridge. 


70 


CHAPTER  IX 

WE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  A  DAY  MAY  BRING 
FORTH 

VARIOUS  were  the  sensations  which 
agitated  the  mind  of  Charlotte  during 
the  day  preceding  the  evening  in  which 
she  was  to  meet  Montraville.  Several 
times  did  she  almost  resolve  to  go  to  her 
governess,  show  her  the  letter,  and  be 
guided  by  her  advice:  but  Charlotte  had 
taken  one  step  in  the  ways  of  impru- 
dence; and  when  that  is  once  done,  there 
are  always  innumerable  obstacles  to  pre- 
vent the  erring  person  returning  to  the 
path  of  rectitude:  yet  these  obstacles, 
however  forcible  they  may  appear  in 
general,  exist  chiefly  in  the  imagination. 

Charlotte  feared  the  anger  of  her  gov- 
erness: she  loved  her  mother,  and  the 
very  idea  of  incurring  her  displeasure 
gave  her  the  greatest  uneasiness:  but 


Gbariotte  Uempie 

there  was  a  more  forcible  reason  still  re- 
maining: should  she  show  the  letter  to 
Madame  Du  Pont,  she  must  confess  the 
means  by  which  it  came  into  her  pos- 
session; and  what  would  be  the  conse- 
quence? Mademoiselle  would  be  turned 
out-of-doors. 

"  I  must  not  be  ungrateful,"  said  she. 
"La  Rue  is  very  kind  to  me;  besides,  I 
can,  when  I  see  Montraville,  inform  him 
of  the  impropriety  of  our  continuing  to 
see  or  correspond  with  each  other,  and 
request  him  to  come  no  more  to  Chi- 
chester." 

However  prudent  Charlotte  might  be 
in  these  resolutions,  she  certainly  did 
not  take  a  proper  method  to  confirm 
herself  in  them.  Several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  she  indulged  herself 
in  reading  over  the  letter,  and  each  time 
she  read  it  the  contents  sunk  deeper  in 
her  heart.  As  evening  drew  near,  she 
caught  herself  frequently  consulting  her 
watch.  "  I  wish  this  foolish  meeting  was 
72 


Iknow  IRot 


over/'  said  she,  by  way  of  apology  to  her 
own  heart,  "I  wish  it  was  over;  for 
when  I  have  seen  him  and  convinced 
him  my  resolution  is  not  to  be  shaken, 
I  shall  feel  my  mind  much  easier." 

The  appointed  hour  arrived.  Char- 
lotte and  mademoiselle  eluded  the  eye 
of  vigilance;  and  Montraville,  who  had 
waited  their  coming  with  impatience, 
received  them  with  rapturous  and  un- 
bounded acknowledgments  for  their 
condescension:  he  had  wisely  brought 
Belcour  with  him  to  entertain  mademoi- 
selle, while  he  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted 
conversation  with  Charlotte. 

Belcour  was  a  man  whose  character 
might  be  comprised  in  a  few  words;  and 
as  he  will  make  some  figure  in  the  ensu- 
ing pages,  I  shall  here  describe  him.  He 
possessed  a  genteel  fortune,  and  had 
a  liberal  education;  dissipated,  thought- 
less and  capricious,  he  paid  little  regard 
to  the  moral  duties,  and  less  to  religious 
ones:  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 

73 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

he  minded  not  the  miseries  he  inflicted 
on  others,  provided  his  own  wishes,  how- 
ever extravagant,  were  gratified.  Self, 
darling  self,  was  the  idol  he  worshiped, 
and  to  that  he  would  have  sacrificed  the 
interest  and  happiness  of  all  mankind. 
Such  was  the  friend  of  Montraville; 
will  not  the  reader  be  ready  to  imagine, 
that  the  man  who  could  regard  such  a 
character  must  be  actuated  by  the  same 
feelings,  follow  the  same  pursuits,  and 
be  equally  unworthy  with  the  person  to 
whom  he  thus  gave  his  confidence? 

But  Montraville  was  a  different  char- 
acter: generous  in  his  disposition,  lib- 
eral in  his  opinion,  and  good-natured  al- 
most to  a  fault;  yet  eager  and  impetuous 
in  the  pursuit  of  a  favorite  object,  he 
stayed  not  to  reflect  on  the  consequence 
which  might  follow  the  attainment  of 
his  wishes;  with  a  mind  ever  open  to 
conviction,  had  he  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  possess  a  friend  who  would  have 
pointed  out  the  cruelty  of  endeavoring 

74 


IDOle  Iknow  IRot 

to  gain  the  heart  of  an  innocent,  artless 
girl,  when  he  knew  it  was  utterly  impos- 
sible for  him  to  marry  her,  and  when 
the  gratification  of  his  passion  would  be 
unavoidable  infamy  and  misery  to  her, 
and  a  cause  of  never-ceasing  remorse  to 
himself:  had  these  dreadful  consequences 
been  placed  before  him  in  a  proper  light, 
the  humanity  of  his  nature  would  have 
urged  him  to  give  up  the  pursuit:  but 
Belcour  was  not  this  friend;  he  rather 
encouraged  the  growing  passion  of  Mon- 
traville,  and  being  pleased  with  the  vi- 
vacity of  mademoiselle,  resolved  to  leave 
no  argument  untried  which  he  thought 
might  prevail  on  her  to  be  the  compan- 
ion of  their  intended  voyage;  and  he 
made  no  doubt  but  her  example,  added 
to  the  rhetoric  of  Montraville,  would  per- 
suade Charlotte  to  go  with  them. 

Charlotte  had,  when  she  went  out  to 
meet  Montraville,  flattered  herself  that 
her  resolution  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
and  that,  conscious  of  the  impropriety 

75 


Cbatlotte  Uempie 

of  her  conduct  in  having  a  clandestine 
intercourse  with  a  stranger,  she  would 
never  repeat  the  indiscretion. 

But  alas!  poor  Charlotte,  she  knew 
not  the  deceitfulness  of  her  own  heart,  or 
she  would  have  avoided  the  trial  of  her 
stability. 

Montraville  was  tender,  eloquent,  ar- 
dent, and  yet  respectful.  "  Shall  I  not 
see  you  once  more,"  said  he,  "before  I 
leave  England?  Will  you  not  bless  me 
by  an  assurance  that,  when  we  are  di- 
vided by  a  vast  expanse  of  sea,  I  shall 
not  be  for  gotten  ?" 

Charlotte  sighed. 

"Why  that  sigh,  my  dear  Charlotte? 
Could  I  flatter  myself  that  a  fear  for  my 
safety,  or  a  wish  for  my  welfare  occa- 
sioned it,  how  happy  would  it  make  me." 

"I  shall  ever  wish  you  well,  Montra- 
ville," said  she,  "but  we  must  meet  no 


more." 


"Oh,  say  not  so,  my  lovely  girl:   re- 
flect that  when  I  leave  my  native  land, 
76 


We  Iknow  IRot 

perhaps  a  few  short  weeks  may  termi- 
nate my  existence;  the  perils  of  the 
ocean — the  dangers  of  war " 

"I  can  hear  no  more/7  said  Charlotte, 
in  a  tremulous  voice.  "I  must  leave 
you/' 

"  Say  you  will  see  me  once  again." 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  she. 

"Only  for  one  half  hour  to-morrow 
evening:  'tis  my  last  request.  I  shall 
never  trouble  you  again,  Charlotte." 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say,"  cried  Char- 
lotte, struggling  to  draw  her  hands  from 
him;  "let  me  leave  you  now." 

"And  will  you  come  to-morrow?" 
said  Montraville. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,"  said  she. 

"Adieu,  then.  I  will  live  upon  that 
hope  until  we  meet  again." 

He  kissed  her  hand.  She  sighed  an 
adieu,  and  catching  hold  of  mademoi- 
selle's arm,  hastily  entered  the  garden 
gate. 


77 


CHAPTER  X 

WHEN    WE    HAVE     EXCITED    CURIOSITY, 
IT  IS  BUT  AN  ACT  OF  GOOD  NA- 
TURE   TO    GRATIFY    IT 

MONTRAVILLE  was  the  youngest  son 
of  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  whose  family 
being  numerous,  he  was  obliged  to  bring 
up  his  sons1  to  genteel  professions,  by 
the  exercise  of  which  they  might  hope 
to  raise  themselves  into  notice. 

"My  daughters/'  said  he,  "have  been 
educated  like  gentlewomen;  and  should 
I  die  before  they  are  settled,  they  must 
have  some  provision  made  to  place  them 
above  the  snares  and  temptations  which 
vice  ever  holds  out  to  the  elegant,  ac- 

1  Colonel  James  G.  Montresor,  the  father  of  Colonel 
John  Montresor,  was  thrice  married,  first  to  John's 
mother,  Mary  Haswell.  There  were  several  sons  by 
the  first  marriage,  including,  besides  John,  James,  who 
was  a  lieutenant  in  the  Navy,  and  Henry,  who  also 
followed  a  military  or  naval  career. 

78 


Gratify  Curiosity 


complished  female,  when  oppressed  by 
the  frowns  of  poverty  and  the  sting  of 
dependence:  my  boys,  with  only  moder- 
ate incomes,  when  placed  in  the  church, 
at  the  bar,  or  in  the  field,  may  exert 
their  talents,  make  themselves  friends, 
and  raise  their  fortunes  on  the  basis  of 
merit." 

When  Montraville  chose  the  profes- 
ion  of  arms,  his  father  presented  him 
with  a  commission,  and  made  him  a 
handsome  provision  for  his  private  purse. 
" Now,  my  boy,"  said  he;  " go !  seek  glory 
on  the  field  of  battle.  You  have  received 
from  me  all  I  shall  ever  have  it  in  my 
power  to  bestow:  it  is  certain  I  have 
interest  to  gain  your  promotion;  but  be 
assured  that  interest  shall  never  be  ex- 
erted unless  by  your  future  conduct  you 
deserve  it.  Remember,  therefore,  your 
success  in  life  depends  entirely  on  your- 
self. There  is  one  thing  I  think  it  my 
duty  to  caution  you  against:  the  precip- 
itancy with  which  young  men  frequent- 

79 


Cbarlotte  ITempie 

'  ly  rush  into  matrimonial  engagements, 
and  by  their  thoughtlessness  draw  many 
a  deserving  woman  into  scenes  of  pov- 
erty and  distress.  A  soldier  has  no  busi- 
ness to  think  of  a  wife  till  his  rank  is 
such  as  to  place  him  above  the  fear  of 
bringing  into  the  world  a  train  of  help- 
less innocents,  heirs  only  to  penury  and 
affliction.  If,  indeed,  a  woman,  whose 
fortune  is  sufficient  to  preserve  you  in 
that  state  of  independence  I  would  teach 
you  to  prize,  should  generously  bestow 
herself  on  a  young  soldier,  whose  chief 
hope  of  future  prosperity  depended  on 
his  success  in  the  field — if  such  a  woman 
should  offer — every  barrier  is  removed, 
and  I  should  rejoice  in  an  union  which 
would  promise  so  much  felicity.  But 
mark  me,  boy,  if,  on  the  contrary,  you 
rush  into  a  precipitate  union  with  a  girl 
of  little  or  no  fortune,  take  the  poor 
creature  from  a  comfortable  home  and 
kind  friends,  and  plunge  her  into  all  the 
evils  a  narrow  income  and  increasing 
80 


ZTo  Gratffs  Curiosity 


family  can  inflict,  I  will  leave  you  to 
enjoy  the  blessed  fruits  of  your  rash- 
ness; for,  by  all  that  is  sacred,  neither 
my  interest  or  fortune  shall  ever  be 
exerted  in  your  favor.  I  am  serious," 
continued  he,  "therefore  imprint  this 
conversation  on  your  memory,  and  let  it 
influence  your  future  conduct.  Your 
happiness  will  always  be  dear  to  me;  and 
I  wish  to  warn  you  of  a  rock  on  which 
the  peace  of  many  an  honest  fellow  has 
been  wrecked;  for,  believe  me,  the  diffi- 
culties and  dangers  of  the  longest  winter 
campaign  are  much  easier  to  be  borne 
than  the  pangs  that  would  seize  your 
heart,  when  you  beheld  the  woman  of 
your  choice,  the  children  of  your  affec- 
tion, involved  in  penury  and  distress,  and 
reflected  that  it  was  your  own  folly  and 
precipitancy  had  been  the  prime  cause 
of  their  suffering." 

As    this    conversation    passed    but    a 
few  hours  before  Montraville  took  leave 
of  his   father,   it  was   deeply   impressed 
81 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

on  his  mind:  when,  therefore,  Belcour 
came  with  him  to  the  place  of  assigna- 
tion with  Charlotte,  he  directed  him  to 
inquire  of  the  Frenchwoman  what  were 
Miss  Temple's  expectations  in  regard  to 
fortune. 

Mademoiselle  informed  him,  that  tho 
Charlotte's  father  possessed  a  genteel  in- 
dependence, it  was  by  no  means  probable 
that  he  could  give  his  daughter  more  than 
a  thousand  pounds;  and  in  case  she  did 
not  marry  to  his  liking,  it  was  possible 
he  might  not  give  her  a  single  sous  [sic]  ; 
nor  did  it  appear  the  least  likely  that  Mr. 
Temple  would  agree  to  her  union  with 
a  young  man  on  the  point  of  embarking 
for  the  seat  of  war. 

Montraville,  therefore,  concluded  it 
was  impossible  he  should  ever  marry 
Charlotte  Temple;  and  what  end  he  pro- 
posed to  himself  by  continuing  the  ac- 
quaintance he  had  commenced  with  her, 
he  did  not  at  that  moment  give  himself 
time  to  inquire. 

82 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONFLICT   OF   LOVE   AND    DUTY 

ALMOST  a  week  was  now  gone,  and 
Charlotte  continued  every  evening  to 
meet  Montraville,  and  in  her  heart  every 
meeting  was  resolved  to  be  the  last;  but 
alas !  when  Montraville,  at  parting,  would 
earnestly  entreat  one  more  interview  that 
treacherous  heart  betrayed  her;  and  for- 
getful of  its  resolution,  pleaded  the  cause 
of  the  enemy  so  powerfully,  that  Char- 
lotte was  unable  to  resist.  Another  and 
another  meeting  succeeded;  and  so  well 
did  Montraville  improve  each  opportu- 
nity, that  the  heedless  girl  at  length  con- 
fessed no  idea  could  be  so  painful  to  her 
as  that  of  never  seeing  him  again. 

"Then  we  will  never  be  parted/'  said 
he. 

"Ah,  Montraville!"  replied  Charlotte, 

83 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

forcing  a  smile,  "how  can  it  be  avoided? 
My  parents  would  never  consent  to  our 
union;  and  even  could  they  be  brought 
to  approve  of  it,  how  should  I  bear  to  be 
separated  from  my  kind,  my  beloved 
mother?" 

"Then  you  love  your  parents  more 
than  you  do  me,  Charlotte?" 

"I  hope  I  do,"  said  she,  blushing  and 
looking  down;  "I  hope  my  affection  for 
them  will  ever  keep  me  from  infringing 
the  laws  of  filial  duty." 

"Well,  Charlotte,"  said  Montraville, 
gravely,  and  letting  go  her  hand,  "since 
that  is  the  case,  I  find  I  have  deceived 
myself  with  fallacious  hopes.  I  had 
flattered  my  fond  heart  that  I  was  dearer 
to  Charlotte  than  anything  in  the  world 
besides.  I  thought  that  you  would  for 
my  sake  have  braved  the  danger  of  the 
ocean,  that  you  would,  by  your  affec- 
tion and  smiles,  have  softened  the  hard- 
ships of  war,  and  had  it  been  my  fate  to 
fall,  that  your  tenderness  would  cheer 
84 


Dutp 


the  hour  of  death,  and  smooth  my  pas- 
sage to  another  world.  But  farewell, 
Charlotte!  I  see  you  never  loved  me.  I 
shall  now  welcome  the  friendly  ball  that 
deprives  me  of  the  sense  of  my  misery/' 

"Oh,  stay,  unkind  Montraville,"  cried 
she,  catching  hold  of  his  arm,  as  he  pre- 
tended to  leave  her  —  "stay;  and  to  calm 
your  fears,  I  will  here  protest,  that  was 
[sic]  it  not  for  the  fear  of  giving  pain  to 
the  best  of  parents,  and  returning  their 
kindness  with  ingratitude,  I  would  fol- 
low you  through  every  danger,  and  in 
studying  to  promote  your  happiness,  in- 
sure my  own.  But  I  can  not  break  my 
mother's  heart,  Montraville;  I  must  not 
bring  the  gray  hairs  of  my  doting  grand- 
father with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  or  make 
my  beloved  father  perhaps  curse  the 
hour  that  gave  me  birth."  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"All  these  distressing  scenes,  my  dear 
Charlotte,"  cried  Montraville,  "  are  mere- 

85 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

ly  the  chimeras  of  a  disturbed  fancy. 
Your  parents  might  perhaps  grieve  at 
first,  but  when  they  heard  from  your  own 
hands  that  you  was  with  a  man  of  honor, 
and  that  it  was  to  insure  your  felicity  by 
an  union  with  him,  to  which  you  feared 
they  would  never  have  given  their  as- 
sent, that  you  left  their  protection,  they 
will,  be  assured,  forgive  an  error  which 
love  alone  occasioned,  and  when  we  re- 
turn from  America,  receive  you  with 
open  arms  and  tears  of  joy." 

Belcour  and  mademoiselle  heard  this 
last  speech,  and  conceiving  it  a  proper 
time  to  throw  in  their  advice  and  per- 
suasions, approached  Charlotte,  and  so 
well  seconded  the  entreaties  of  Montra- 
ville,  that  finding  mademoiselle  intended 
going  with  Belcour,  and  feeling  her  own 
treacherous  heart  too  much  inclined  to 
accompany  them,  the  hapless  Charlotte 
in  an  evil  hour  consented  that  the  next 
evening  they  should  bring  a  chaise  to  the 
end  of  the  town,  and  that  she  would  leave 
86 


Xo\>e  anb  Dutp 

her  friends,  and  throw  herself  entirely 
on  the  protection  of  Montraville.  "  But 
should  you,"  said  she,  looking  earnestly 
at  him,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  "should 
you,  forgetful  of  your  promises,  and  re- 
penting the  engagements  you  here  volun- 
tarily enter  into,  forsake  and  leave  me 
on  a  foreign  shore— 

"Judge  not  so  meanly  of  me,"  said 
he.  "The  moment  we  reach  our  place 
of  destination,  Hymen  shall  sanctify  our 
love,  and  when  I  shall  forget  your  good- 
ness may  Heaven  forget  me!" 

"  Ah,"  said  Charlotte,  leaning  on  mad- 
emoiselle's arm,  as  they  walked  up  the 
garden  together,  "I  have  forgot  all  that 
I  ought  to  have  remembered,  in  consent- 
ing to  this  intended  elopement." 

"You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  mad- 
emoiselle: "you  never  know  your  own 
mind  two  minutes  at  a  time.  Just  now 
you  declared  Montraville's  happiness  was 
what  you  prized  most  in  the  world;  and 
now  I  suppose  you  repent  having  insured 

87 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

that  happiness  by  agreeing  to  accompany 
him  abroad." 

"Indeed,  I  do  repent,"  replied  Char- 
lotte, "from  my  soul;  but  while  discre- 
tion points  out  the  impropriety  of  my 
conduct,  inclination  urges  me  on  to  ruin." 

"  Ruin !  fiddlesticks ! "  said  mademoi- 
selle; "am  not  I  going  with  you?  and 
do  I  feel  any  of  these  qualms?" 

"You  do  not  renounce  a  tender  father 
and  mother,"  said  Charlotte. 

"But  I  hazard  my  dear  reputation," 
replied  mademoiselle,  bridling. 

"True,"  replied  Charlotte,  "but  you 
do  not  feel  what  I  do."  She  then  bade 
her  good-night:  but  sleep  was  a  stranger 
to  her  eyes,  and  the  tear  of  anguish  wa- 
tered her  pillow. 


88 


CHAPTER   XII 


Nature's  last,  best  gift: 
Creature  in  whom  excell'd,  whatever  could 
To  sight  or  thought  be  nam'd! 
Holy,  divine!  good,  amiable  and  sweet! 
How  thou  art  fall'n! 


WHEN  Charlotte  left  her  restless  bed, 
her  languid  eye  and  pale  cheek  discov- 
ered to  Madame  Du  Pont  the  little  re- 
pose she  had  tasted. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  affection- 
ate governess,  "what  is  the  cause  of  the 
langor  so  apparent  in  your  frame?  Are 
you  not  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear  madame,  very  well/* 
replied  Charlotte,  attempting  to  smile, 
"  but  I  know  not  how  it  was ;  I  could  not 
sleep  last  night,  and  my  spirits  are  de- 
pressed this  morning." 

"Come,  cheer  up,  my  love,"  said  the 
governess ;  "  I  believe  I  have  brought  a 

89 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

cordial  to  revive  them.  I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  your  good  mamma, 
and  here  is  one  for  yourself." 

Charlotte    hastily    took   the    letter:    it 
contained  these  words — 

"  As  to-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of  the 
happy  day  that  gave  my  beloved  girl  to  the 
anxious  wishes  of  a  maternal  heart,  I  have 
requested  your  governess  to  let  you  come 
home  and  spend  it  with  us;  and  as  I  know 
you  to  be  a  good,  affectionate  child,  -and  make 
it  your  study  to  improve  in  those  branches  of 
education  which  you  know  will  give  most 
pleasure  to  your  delighted  parents,  as  a  re- 
ward for  your  diligence  and  attention,  I  have 
prepared  an  agreeable  surprise  for  your  re- 
ception. Your  grandfather,  eager  to  embrace 
the  darling  of  his  aged  heart,  will  come  in  the 
chaise  for  you;  so  hold  yourself  in  readiness 
to  attend  him  by  nine  o'clock.  Your  dear 
father  joins  in  every  tender  wish  for  your 
health  and  future  felicity  which  warms  the 
heart  of  my  dear  Charlotte's  affectionate 
mother. 

"  L.  TEMPLE." 

"Gracious  Heaven!"   cried  Charlotte, 
90 


1bow  Ubou  Hrt  ffall'n!" 


forgetting  where  she  was,  and  raising 
her  streaming  eyes  as  if  in  earnest  sup- 
plication. 

Madame  Du  Pont  was  surprised. 
"Why  these  tears,  my  love?"  said  she. 
"  Why  this  seeming  agitation?  I  thought 
the  letter  would  have  rejoiced,  instead 
of  distressing  you." 

"It  does  rejoice  me."  replied  Char- 
lotte, endeavoring  at  composure;  "but  I 
was  praying  for  merit  to  deserve  the  un- 
remitted  attentions  of  the  best  of  par- 
ents." 

"You  do  right,"  said  Madame  Du 
Pont,  "to  ask  the  assistance  of  Heaven 
that  you  may  continue  to  deserve  their 
love.  Continue,  my  dear  Charlotte,  in 
the  course  you  have  ever  pursued,  and 
you  will  insure  at  once  their  happiness 
and  your  own." 

"Oh!"  cried  Charlotte,  as  her  gov- 
erness left  her,  "  I  have  forfeited  both 
forever!  Yet  let  me  reflect: — the  irre- 
vocable step  is  not  yet  taken:  it  is  not 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

too  late  to  recede  from  the  brink  of  a 
precipice  from  which  I  can  only  behold 
the  dark  abyss  of  ruin,  shame  and  re- 
morse ! " 

She  arose  from  her  seat,  and  flew  to 
the  apartment  of  La  Rue.  "Oh,  mad- 
emoiselle ! "  said  she,  "  I  am  snatched  by 
a  miracle  from  destruction!  This  letter 
has  saved  me:  it  has  opened  my  eyes  to 
the  folly  I  was  so  near  committing.  I 
will  not  go,  mademoiselle;  I  will  not 
wound  the  hearts  of  those  dear  parents 
who  make  my  happiness  the  whole  study 
of  their  lives." 

"Well,"  said  mademoiselle,  "do  as 
you  please,  miss;  but  pray  understand 
that  my  resolution  is  taken,  and  it  is  not 
in  your  power  to  alter  it.  I  shall  meet 
the  gentlemen  at  the  appointed  hour, 
and  shall  not  be  surprised  at  any  out- 
rage which  Montraville  may  commit 
when  he  finds  himself  disappointed.  In- 
deed, I  should  not  be  astonished  was  [sic] 
he  to  come  immediately  here  and  re- 
92 


l)ow  Ubou  Hrt  ffall'n! 


proach  you  for  your  instability  in  the 
hearing  of  the  whole  school:  and  what 
will  be  the  consequence?  You  will  bear 
the  odium  of  having  formed  the  resolu- 
tion of  eloping,  and  every  girl  of  spirit 
will  laugh  at  your  want  of  fortitude  to 
put  it  in  execution,  while  prudes  and 
fools  will  load  you  with  reproach  and 
contempt.  You  will  have  lost  the  confi- 
dence of  your  parents,  incurred  their 
anger  and  the  scoffs  of  the  world;  and 
what  fruit  do  you  expect  to  reap  from 
this  piece  of  heroism  (for  such,  no  doubt, 
you  think  it  is)  ?  You  will  have  the 
pleasure  to  reflect  that  you  have  de- 
ceived the  man  who  adores  you,  and 
whom,  in  your  heart,  you  prefer  to  all 
other  men,  and  that  you  are  separated 
from  him  forever." 

This  eloquent  harangue  was  given 
with  such  volubility  that  Charlotte  could 
not  find  an  opportunity  to  interrupt  her 
or  to  offer  a  single  word  till  the  whole 
was  finished,  and  then  found  her  ideas 

93 


Cbariotte  Uempie 

so  confused  that  she  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

At  length  she  determined  that  she 
would  go  with  mademoiselle  to  the  place 
of  assignation,  convince  Montraville  of 
the  necessity  of  adhering  to  the  resolu- 
tion of  remaining  behind,  assure  him  of 
her  affection,  and  bid  him  adieu. 

Charlotte  formed  this  plan  in  her 
mind,  and  exulted  in  the  certainty  of 
its  success.  "How  shall  I  rejoice,"  said 
she,  "in  this  triumph  of  reason  over  in- 
clination ;  -and  when  in  the  arms  of  my 
affectionate  parents,  lift  up  my  soul 
in  gratitude  to  Heaven  as  I  look  back  on 
the  dangers  I  have  escaped!" 

The  hour  of  assignation  arrived:  mad- 
emoiselle put  what  money  and  valuables 
she  possessed  in  her  pocket,  and  advised 
Charlotte  to  do  the  same ;  but  she  refused ; 
"  my  resolution  is  fixed ;"  said  she ;  "  I 
will  sacrifice  love  to  duty." 

Mademoiselle  smiled  internally;  and 
they  proceeded  softly  down  the  back 

94 


ZTbou  Hrt 


stairs  and  out  of  the  garden  gate.  Mon- 
traville  and  Belcour  were  ready  to  re- 
ceive them. 

"Now,"  said  Montraville,  taking 
Charlotte  in  his  arms,  "you  are  mine 
forever." 

"No,"  said  she,  withdrawing  from  his 
embrace;  "I  am  come  to  take  an  ever- 
lasting farewell." 

It  would  be  useless  to  repeat  the  con- 
versation that  here  ensued;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  Montraville  used  every  argu- 
ment that  had  formerly  been  successful, 
Charlotte's  resolution  began  to  waver, 
and  he  drew  her  almost  imperceptibly 
toward  the  chaise. 

"  I  can  not  go,"  said  she,  "  cease,  dear 
Montraville,  to  persuade.  I  must  not: 
religion,  duty,  forbid." 

"Cruel  Charlotte!"  said  he,  "if  you 
disappoint  my  ardent  hopes,  by  all  that  is 
sacred!  this  hand  shall  put  a  period  to 
my  existence.  I  can  not — will  not — 
live  without  you." 

95 


Cbarlotte  temple 

"Alas!  my  torn  heart!"  said  Char- 
lotte, "how  shall  I  act?" 

"Let  me  direct  you/'  said  Montra- 
ville,  lifting  her.  into  the  chaise. 

"Oh!  my  dear,  forsaken  parents!" 
cried  Charlotte. 

The  chaise  drove  off.  She  shrieked 
and  fainted  into  the  arms  of  her  betrayer. 


96 


CHAPTER     XIII 

CRUEL  DISAPPOINTMENT 

"WHAT  pleasure!"  cried  Mr.  El- 
dridge,  as  he  stepped  into  the  chaise  to 
go  for  his  granddaughter,  "what  pleas- 
ure expands  the  heart  of  an  old  man 
when  he  beholds  the  progeny  of  a  be- 
loved child  growing  up  in  every  virtue 
that  adorned  the  minds  of  her  parents. 
I  foolishly  thought,  some  few  years  since, 
that  every  sense  of  joy  was  buried  in 
the  graves  of  my  dear  partner  and  my 
son;  but  my  Lucy,  by  her  filial  affection, 
soothed  my  soul  to  peace,  and  this  dear 
Charlotte  has  twined  herself  around  my 
heart,  and  opened  such  new  scenes  of 
delight  to  my  view  that  I  almost  for- 
get I  have  ever  been  unhappy." 

When  the  chaise  stopped  he  alighted 
with  the  alacrity  of  youth;  so  much  do 

97 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

the  emotions  of  the  soul  influence  the 
body. 

It  was  half-past  eight  o'clock:  the  la- 
dies were  assembled  in  the  school-room, 
and  Madame  Du  Pont  was  preparing  to 
offer  the  morning  sacrifice  of  prayer  and 
praise,  when  it  was  discovered  that  mad- 
emoiselle and  Charlotte  were  missing. 

"  She  is  busy,  no  doubt,"  said  the  gov- 
erness, "in  preparing  Charlotte  for  her 
little  excursion;  but  pleasure  should 
never  make  us  forget  our  duty  to  our 
Creator.  Go,  one  of  you,  and  bid  them 
both  attend  prayers." 

The  lady  who  went  to  summon  them 
soon  returned,  and  informed  the  gover- 
ness that  the  room  was  locked,  and  that 
she  had  knocked  repeatedly,  but  obtained 
no  answer. 

"Good  Heaven!"  cried  Madame  Du 
Pont,  "this  is  very  strange:"  and  turn- 
ing pale  with  terror,  she  went  hastily  to 
the  door,  and  ordered  it  to  be  forced 
open.  The  apartment  instantly  discovered 
98 


^Disappointment 

the  fact  that  no  person  had  been  in  it 
the  preceding  night,  the  beds  appearing 
as  tho  just  made.  The  house  was  in- 
stantly a  scene  of  confusion:  the  garden, 
the  pleasure  grounds,  were  searched  to 
no  purpose;  every  apartment  rang  with 
the  names  of  Miss  Temple  and  mademoi- 
selle; but  they  were  too  distant  to  hear; 
and  every  face  wore  the  marks  of  disap- 
pointment. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  sitting  in  the  par- 
lor, eagerly  expecting  his  granddaughter 
to  descend,  ready  equipped  for  her  jour- 
ney: he  heard  the  confusion  that  reigned 
in  the  house;  he  heard  the  name  of 
Charlotte  frequently  repeated. 

"What  can  be  the  matter?"  said  he, 
rising,  and  opening  the  door:  "I  fear 
some  accident  has  befallen  my  dear  girl." 

The  governess  entered.  The  visible 
agitation  of  her  countenance  discovered 
that  something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened. 

"Where     is     Charlotte?"     said     he. 

99 


(Tbarlotte  tlempie 

"Why  does  not  my  child  come  to  wel- 
come her  doting  parent?" 

"Be  composed,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Madame  Du  Pont;  "do  not  frighten 
yourself  unnecessarily.  She  is  not  in  the 
house  at  present;  but  as  mademoiselle 
is  undoubtedly  with  her,  she  will  speed- 
ily return  in  safety;  and  I  hope  they  will 
both  be  able  to  account  for  this  unsea- 
sonable absence  in  such  a  manner  as 
shall  remove  our  present  uneasiness." 

"Madame,"  cried  the  old  man,  with 
an  angry  look,  "has  my  child  been  ac- 
customed to  go  out  without  leave,  with 
no  other  company  or  protector  than  that 
French  woman?  Pardon  me,  madame, 
I  mean  no  reflection  on  your  country, 
but  I  never  did  like  Mademoiselle  La 
Rue;  I  think  she  was  a  very  improper 
person  to  be  intrusted  with  the  care  of 
such  a  girl  as  Charlotte  Temple,  or  to 
be  suffered  to  take  her  from  under  your 
immediate  protection." 

"You  wrong  me,  Mr.  Eldridge,"  re- 
100 


Disappointment 

plied  she,  "if  you  suppose  I  have  ever 
permitted  your  granddaughter  to  go  out, 
unless  with  the  other  ladies.  I  would 
to  Heaven  I  could  form  any  probable 
conjecture  concerning  her  absence  this 
morning,  but  it  is  a  mystery  which  her 
return  can  alone  unravel." 

Servants  were  now  dispatched  to  every 
place  where  there  was  the  least  hope  of 
hearing  any  tidings  of  the  fugitives,  but 
in  vain.  Dreadful  were  the  hours  of 
horrid  suspense  which  Mr.  Eldridge 
passed  till  twelve  o'clock,  when  that  sus- 
pense was  reduced  to  a  shocking  cer- 
tainty, and  every  spark  of  hope,  which 
till  then  they  had  indulged,  was  in  a  mo- 
ment extinguished. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  preparing,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  to  return  to  his  anxiously- 
expecting  children,  when  Madame  Du 
Pont  received  the  following  note,  with- 
out either  name  or  date: 

"  Miss  Temple  is  well,  and  wishes  to  relieve 
the  anxiety  of  her  parents,  by  letting  them 

101 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

know  she  has  voluntarily  put  herself  under  the 
protection  of  a  man  whose  future  study  shall 
be  to  make  her  happy.  Pursuit  is  needless; 
the  measures  taken  to  avoid  discovery  are  too 
effectual  to  be  eluded.  When  she  thinks  her 
friends  are  reconciled  to  this  precipitate  step, 
they  may,  perhaps,  be  informed  of  her  place 
of  residence.  Mademoiselle  is  with  her." 

As  Madame  Du  Pont  read  these  cruel 
lines,  she  turned  pale  as  ashes,  her  limbs 
trembled,  and  she  was  forced  to  call  for 
a  glass  of  water.  She  loved  Charlotte 
truly;  and  when  she  reflected  on  the  in- 
nocence and  gentleness  of  her  disposition, 
she  concluded  that  it  must  have  been  the 
advice  and  machinations  of  La  Rue  which 
led  her  to  this  imprudent  action;  she 
recollected  her  agitation  at  the  receipt 
of  her  mother's  letter,  and  saw  in  it  the 
conflict  of  her  mind. 

"Does  that  letter  relate- to. Charlotte?" 
said  Mr.  Eldridge,  having  waited  some 
time  in  expectation  of  Madame  Du 
Font's  speaking. 

1 02 


Disappointment 

"It  does,"  said  she.  "Charlotte  is 
well,  but  can  not  return  to-day." 

"Not  return,  madame?  Where  is  she? 
Who  will  detain  her  from  her  fond,  ex- 
pecting parents?" 

"You  distract  me  with  these  ques- 
tions, Mr.  Eldridge.  Indeed,  I  know 
not  where  she  is,  or  who  has  seduced 
her  from  her  duty." 

The  whole  truth  now  rushed  at  once 
upon  Mr.  Eldridge's  mind.  "She  has 
eloped,  then,"  said  he;  "my  child  is  be- 
trayed; the  darling,  the  comfort  of  my 
aged  heart  is  lost !  Oh,  would  to  heaven 
I  had  died  but  yesterday." 

A  violent  gush  of  grief  in  some  meas- 
ure relieved  him,  and  after  several  vain 
attempts,  he  at  length  assumed  sufficient 
composure  to  read  the  note. 

"And  how  shall  I  return  to  my  chil- 
dren?" said  he:  "how  approach  that 
mansion  so  late  the  habitation  of  peace? 
Alas!  my  dear  Lucy,  how  will  you  sup- 
port these  heart-rending  tidings?  or  how 
103 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

shall  I  be  enabled  to  console  you,  who 
need  so  much  consolation  myself?" 

The  old  man  returned  to  the  chaise, 
but  the  light  step  and  cheerful  counte- 
nance were  no  more;  sorrow  rilled  his 
heart  and  guided  his  emotions. 

He  seated  himself  in  the  chaise;  his 
venerable  head  reclined  upon  his  bosom, 
his  hands  were  folded,  his  eye  fixed  on 
vacancy,  and  the  large  drops  of  sorrow 
rolled  silently  down  his  cheeks.  There 
was  a  mixture  of  anguish  and  resigna- 
tion depicted  in  his  countenance,  as  if 
he  would  say: 

"Henceforth,  who  shall  dare  to  boast 
his  happiness,  or  even  in  idea  contem- 
plate his  treasure,  lest  in  the  very  mo- 
ment his  heart  is  exulting  in  its  own 
felicity,  the  object  which  constitutes  that 
felicity  should  be  torn  from  him?" 


104 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MATERNAL   SORROW 

SLOW  and  heavy  passed  the  time  while 
the  carriage  was  conveying  Mr.  Eldridge 
home;  and  yet,  when  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  house,  he  wished  a  longer  reprieve 
from  the  dreadful  task  of  informing  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Temple  of  their  daughter's 
elopement. 

It  is  easy  to  judge  the  anxiety  of  these 
affectionate  parents,  when  they  found 
the  return  of  their  father  delayed  so 
much  beyond  the  expected  time.  They 
were  now  met  in  the  dining-parlor,  and 
several  of  the  young  people  who  had 
been  invited  were  already  arrived.  Each 
different  part  of  the  company  was  em- 
ployed in  the  same  manner,  looking  out 
at  the  windows  which  faced  the  road. 
At  length  the  long-expected  chaise  ap- 

105 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

peared.  Mrs.  Temple  ran  out  to  receive 
and  welcome  her  darling :  her  young  com- 
panions flocked  around  the  door,  each 
one  eager  to  give  her  joy  on  the  return 
of  her  birthday.  The  door  of  the  chaise 
was  opened.  Charlotte  was  not  there. 
"Where  is  my  child?"  cried  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, in  breathless  agitation.  Mr.  Eldridge 
could  not  answer;  he  took  hold  of  his 
daughter's  hand  and  led  her  into  the 
house;  and  sinking  on  the  first  chair  he 
came  to,  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

"She  is  dead!"  cried  Mrs.  Temple. 
"Oh,  my  dear  Charlotte?"  and,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  an  agony  of  distress, 
fell  into  strong  hysterics. 

Mr.  Temple,  who  had  stood  speechless 
with  surprise  and  fear,  now  ventured  to 
enquire  if  indeed  his  Charlotte  was  no 
more.  Mr.  Eldridge  led  him  into  another 
apartment;  and  putting  the  fatal  note 
into  his  hand,  cried:  "Bear  it  like  a 
Christian!"  and  turned  from  him,  en- 
106 


/fcaternal  Sorrow 

deavoring  to  suppress  his  own  too  visible 
emotions. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  describing 
what  Mr.  Temple  felt  whilst  he  hastily 
ran  over  the  dreadful  lines.  When  he 
had  finished,  the  paper  dropped  from  his 
unnerved  hand.  "Gracious  Heaven!" 
said  he.  "could  Charlotte  act  thus?" 
Neither  tear  nor  sigh  escaped  him;  and 
he  sat  the  image  of  mute  sorrow,  till 
roused  from  his  stupor  by  the  repeated 
shrieks  of  Mrs.  Temple.  He  rose 
hastily,  and  rushing  into  the  apartment 
where  she  was,  folded  his  arms  about 
her,  and  saying — "Let  us  be  patient, 
my  dear  Lucy,"  nature  relieved  his  al- 
most bursting  heart  by  a  friendly  gush 
of  tears. 

Should  any  one,  presuming  on  his 
own  philosophic  temper,  look  with  an 
eye  of  contempt  on  the  man  who  could 
indulge  a  woman's  weakness,  let  him 
remember  that  man  was  a  father,  and 
107 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

he  will  then  pity  the  misery  which  wrung 
those  drops  from  a  noble,  generous  heart. 

Mrs.  Temple,  beginning  to  be  a  lit- 
tle more  composed,  but  still  imagining 
her  child  was  dead,  her  husband,  gently 
taking  her  hand,  cried:  "You  are  mis- 
taken, my  love.  Charlotte  is  not  dead/' 

'Then  she  is  very  ill;  else  why  did 
she  not  come?  But  I  will  go  to  her; 
the  chaise  is  still  at  the  door;  let  me  go 
instantly  to  the  dear  girl.  If  I  was  ill, 
she  would  fly  to  attend  me,  to  alleviate 
my  sufferings,  and  cheer  me  with  her 
love." 

"Be  calm,  my  dearest  Lucy,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all,"  said  Mr.  Temple. 
"You  must  not  go;  indeed  you  must  not; 
it  will  be  of  no  use." 

"Temple,"  said  she,  assuming  a  look 
of  firmness  and  composure,  "tell  me  the 
truth,  I  beseech  you !  I  can  not  bear  this 
dreadful  suspense.  What  misfortune 
has  befallen  my  child?  Let  me  know 
108 


/iDaternal  Sorrow 

the  worst,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  bear 
it  as  I  ought." 

"  Lucy/'  replied  Mr.  Temple,  "  imagine 
your  daughter  alive,  and  in  no  danger  of 
death:  what  misfortune  would  you  then 
dread?" 

*  There  is  one  misfortune  which  is 
worse  than  death.  But  I  know  my  child 
too  well  to  suspect " 

"  Be  not  too  confident,  Lucy." 

"Oh,  Heaven!"  said  she,  "what  hor- 
rid images  do  you  start?  Is  it  possible 
she  should  forget?" 

"She  has  forgot  us  all,  my  love;  she 
has  preferred  the  love  of  a  stranger  to 
the  affectionate  protection  of  her  friends." 

"Not  eloped!"  cried  she,  eagerly. 

Mr.  Temple  was  silent. 

"You  can  not  contradict  it,"  said  she. 
"  I  see  my  fate  in  those  tearful  eyes.  Oh, 
Charlotte!  Charlotte!  how  ill  have  you 
requited  our  tenderness!  But,  Father  of 
Mercies,"  continued  she,  sinking  on  her 
knees  and  raising  her  streaming  eyes  and 
109 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

clasped  hands  to  Heaven,  "this  once 
vouchsafe  to  hear  a  fond,  a  distracted 
mother's  prayer.  Oh,  let  thy  bounteous 
Providence  watch  over  and  protect  the 
dear,  thoughtless  girl,  save  her  from  the 
miseries  which  I  fear  will  be  her  portion ; 
and,  oh!  of  Thine  infinite  mercy,  make 
her  not  a  mother,  lest  she  should  one 
day  feel  what  I  now  suffer!" 

The  last  words  faltered  on  her  tongue, 
and  she  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of 
her  husband,  who  had  involuntarily 
dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

A  mother's  anguish,  when  disappoint- 
ed in  her  tenderest  hopes,  none  but  a 
mother  can  conceive.  Yet,  my  dear 
young  readers,  I  would  have  you  read 
this  scene  with  attention,  and  reflect  that 
you  may  yourselves  one  day  be  mothers. 

Oh,  my  friends,  as  you  value  your 
eternal  happiness,  wound  not,  by 
thoughtless  ingratitude,  the  peace  of  the 
mother  who  bore  you:  remember  the 
tenderness,  the  care,  the  unremitting 
no 


Maternal  Sorrow 

anxiety  with  which  she  has  attended  to 
all  your  wants  and  wishes  from  earliest 
infancy  to  the  present  day;  behold  the 
mild  ray  of  affectionate  applause  that 
beams  from  her  eye  on  the  performance 
of  your  duty:  listen  to  her  reproofs  with 
silent  attention ;  they  proceed  from  a 
heart  anxious  for  your  future  felicity: 
you  must  love  her;  nature,  all-powerful 
nature,  has.  planted  the  seeds  of  filial 
affection  in  your  bosoms. 

Then,  once  more  read  over  the  sor- 
rows of  poor  Mrs.  Temple;  and  remem- 
ber, the  mother  whom  you  so  dearly  love 
and  venerate  will  feel  the  same,  when 
you,  forgetful  of  the  respect  due  to  your 
Maker  and  yourself,  forsake  the  paths  of 
virtue,  for  those  of  vice  and  folly. 


in 


CHAPTER  XV 

EMBARKATION 

IT  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
the  united  efforts  of  mademoiselle  and 
Montraville  could  support  Charlotte's 
spirits  during  their  short  ride  from  Chi- 
chester1  to  Portsmouth,  where  a  boat 
waited  to  take  them  immediately  on 
board  the  ship  in  which  they  were  to 
embark  for  America. 

As  soon  as  she  became  tolerably  com- 

1  Chichester  lies  distant  from  Portsmouth  seventeen 
and  one-half  miles.  Portsmouth  then  as  now  was  the 
chief  naval  arsenal  of  England,  its  fortifications  being 
the  most  important  in  Great  Britain.  Its  harbor  lies 
close  to  Spithead,  where  1,000  ships  of  the  line,  sheltered 
by  the  Isle  of  Wight,  could  safely  ride.  Here,  in  1782, 
was  lost  the  Royal  George,  of  108  guns,  with  nearly  one 
thousand  men  on  board — a  disaster  now  remembered 
mainly  because  it  was  the  subject  of  Cowper's  familiar 
poem  beginning — 

"Toll  for  the  brave! 

The  brave  that  are  no  more! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
Fast  by  their  native  shore!" 

112 


Embarkation 

posed,  she  entreated  pen  and  ink  to  write 
to  her  parents.  This  she  did  in  the  most 
affecting,  artless  manner,  entreating 
their  pardon  and  blessing,  and  describing 
the  dreadful  situation  of  her  mind,  the 
conflict  she  suffered  in  endeavoring  to 
conquer  this  unfortunate  attachment, 
and  concluded  with  saying  her  only  hope 
of  future  comfort  consisted  in  the  (per- 
haps delusive)  idea  she  indulged,  of  be- 
ing once  more  folded  in  their  protecting 
arms,  and  hearing  the  words  of  peace  and 
pardon  from  their  lips. 

The  tears  streamed  incessantly  while 
she  was  writing,  and  she  was  frequently 
obliged  to  lay  down  her  pen:  but  when 
the  task  was  completed,  and  she  had  com- 
mitted the  letter  to  the  care  of  Montra- 
ville,  to  be  sent  to  the  postoffice,  she  be- 
came more  calm,  and  indulging  the  de- 
lightful hope  of  soon  receiving  an  answer 
that  would  seal  her  pardon,  she  in  some 
measure  assumed  her  usual  cheerfulness. 

But    Montraville    knew    too    well    the 

"3 


Cbatiotte  Uemple 

consequences  that  must  unavoidably  en- 
sue should  this  letter  reach  Mr.  Temple: 
he,  therefore,  wisely  resolved  to  walk 
on  the  deck,  tear  it  in  pieces,  and  com- 
mit the  fragments  to  the  care  of  Nep- 
tune, who  might  or  might  not,  as  it  suit- 
ed his  convenience,  convey  them  on  shore. 

All  Charlotte's  hopes  and  wishes  were 
now  concentered  in  one,  namely,  that  the 
fleet  might  be  detained  at  Spithead  till  she 
could  receive  a  letter  from  her  friends; 
but  in  this  she  was  disappointed,  for  the 
second  morning  after  she  went  on  board 
the  signal  was  made,  the  fleet1  weighed 
anchor,  and  in  a  few  hours,  (the  wind 
being  favorable),  they  bid  [sic]  adieu  to 
the  white  cliffs  of  Albion. 

In  the  meantime  every  enquiry  that 
could  be  thought  of  was  made  by  Mr. 


1  The  war  preparations  here  indicated  were  those 
which  followed  the  Boston  Tea  Party  of  December, 
1773-  General  Gage,  having  been  sent  to  Boston  as 
Governor  of  Massachusetts  and  the  Port  Bill  having 
been  passed  by  Parliament,  reinforcements  were  being 
dispatched  to  America  in  support  of  vigorous  measures 
against  the  rebellious  colonists. 

114 


CHARLOTTE  AND  MONTRAVILLE  ARRIVING  AT  PORTSMOUTH 
Frontispiece  to  an  edition  of  1829 


Embarkation 

and  Mrs.  Temple;  for  many  days  did 
they  indulge  the  fond  hope  that  she  was 
merely  gone  off  to  be  married,  and  that 
when  the  indissoluble  knot  was  once  tied, 
she  would  return  with  the  partner  she 
had  chosen  and  entreat  their  blessing  and 
forgiveness. 

"And  shall  we  not  forgive  her?"  said 
Mr.  Temple. 

"Forgive  her!"  exclaimed  the  moth- 
er. "Oh!  yes;  whatever  be  our  [sic] 
errors,  is  she  not  our  child?  And  tho 
bowed  to  the  earth  even  with  shame  and 
remorse,  is  it  not  our  duty  to  raise  the 
poor  penitent  and  whisper  peace  and  com- 
fort to  her  desponding  soul?  would  she 
but  return,  with  rapture  would  I  fold 
her  to  my  heart  and  bury  every  remem- 
brance of  her  faults  in  the  dear  embrace." 

But  still,  day  after  day  passed  on  and 
Charlotte  did  not  appear,  nor  were  any 
tidings  to  be  heard  of  her:  yet  each  ris- 
ing morning  was  welcomed  by  some  new 
hope — the  evening  brought  with  it  dis- 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

appointment.  At  length  hope  was  no 
more;  despair  usurped  her  place,  and  the 
mansion  which  was  once  the  mansion  of 
peace  became  the  habitation  of  pale,  de- 
jected melancholy. 

The  cheerful  smile  that  was  wont  to 
adorn  the  face  of  Mrs.  Temple  was  fled, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  support  of 
unaffected  piety,  and  a  consciousness  of 
having  ever  set  before  her  child  the  fair- 
est example,  she  must  have  sunk  under 
this  heavy  affliction.  • 

"Since/'  said  she,  "  the  severest  scru- 
tiny can  not  charge  me  with  any  breach 
of  duty,  to  have  deserved  this  severe 
chastisement,  I  will  bow  before  the 
Power  who  inflicts  it  with  humble  resig- 
nation to  His  will;  nor  shall  the  duty  of 
a  wife  be  totally  absorbed  in  the  feelings 
of  the  mother;  I  will  endeavor  to  appear 
more  cheerful,  and  by  appearing  in  some 
measure  to  have  conquered  my  own  sor- 
row, alleviate  the  sufferings  of  my  hus- 
band, and  rouse  him  from  that  torpor 
116 


jEmbarfeation 

into  which  this  misfortune  has  plunged 
him.  My  father,  too,  demands  my  care 
and  attention:  I  must  not,  by  a  selfish 
indulgence  of  my  own  grief,  forget  the 
interest  those  two  dear  objects  take  in 
my  happiness  or  misery:  I  will  wear  a 
smile  on  my  face,  tho  the  thorn  rankles 
in  my  heart;  and  if  by  so  doing,  I  in 
the  smallest  degree  contribute  to  restore 
their  peace  of  mind,  I  shall  be  amply  re- 
warded for  the  pain  the  concealment  of 
my  own  feelings  may  occasion." 

Thus  argued  this  excellent  woman: 
and  in  the  execution  of  so  laudable  a 
resolution,  we  shall  leave  her  to  follow 
the  fortunes  of  the  hapless  victim  of  im- 
prudence and  evil  counselors. 


117 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NECESSARY    DIGRESSION 

ON  board  of  the  ship  on  which  Char- 
lotte and  mademoiselle  were  embarked, 
was  an  officer  of  large,  unencumbered 
fortune  and  elevated  rank,  and  whom  I 
shall  call  Clayton  [sic]. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who,  having 
traveled  in  their  youth,  pretend  to  have 
contracted  a  peculiar  fondness  for  every- 
thing foreign,  and  to  hold  in  contempt 
the  productions  of  their  own  country; 
and  this  affected  partiality  extended  even 
to  the  women. 

With  him,  therefore,  the  blushing 
modesty  and  unaffected  simplicity  of 
Charlotte  passed  unnoticed;  but  the  for- 
ward pertness  of  La  Rue,  the  freedom  of 
her  conversation,  the  elegance  of  her  per- 
son, mixed  with  a  certain  engaging  je 
ne  sais  quoi,  perfectly  enchanted  him. 
118 


Digression 

The  reader,  no  doubt,  has  already  de- 
veloped the  character  of  La  Rue:  de- 
signing, artful  and  selfish,  she  had  ac- 
cepted the  devoirs  of  Belcour  because  she 
was  heartily  weary  of  the  retired  life  she 
led  at  the  school,  wished  to  be  released 
from  what  she  deemed  a  slavery,  and 
to  return  to  that  vortex  of  folly  and 
dissipation,  which  had  once  plunged  her 
into  the  deepest  misery;  but  her  plan, 
she  flattered  herself,  was  now  better 
formed :  she  resolved  to  put  herself  under 
the  protection  of  no  man,  till  she  had 
first  secured  a  settlement;  but  the  clan- 
destine manner  in  which  she  left  Ma- 
dame Du  Font's  prevented  her  putting 
this  plan  in  execution,  tho  Belcour 
solemnly  protested  he  would  make  her 
a  handsome  settlement  the  moment  they 
arrived  at  Portsmouth.  This  he  after- 
ward contrived  to  evade  by  a  pretended 
hurry  of  business:  La  Rue,  readily  con- 
ceiving he  never  meant  to  fulfil  his 
promise,  determined  to  change  her  bat- 
119 


Cbariotte  TTemple 

tery,  and  attack  the  heart  of  Colonel 
Crayton.  She  soon  discovered  the  par- 
tiality he  entertained  for  her  nation;  and 
having  imposed  on  him  a  feigned  tale 
of  distress,  representing  Belcour  as  a  vil- 
lain who  had  seduced  her  from  her 
friends  under  promise  of  marriage,  and 
afterward  betrayed  her,  pretending  great 
remorse  for  the  errors  she  had  com- 
mitted, and  declaring  whatever  her 
affection  might  have  been,  it  was  now 
entirely  extinguished,  and  she  wished  for 
nothing  more  than  an  opportunity  to 
leave  a  course  of  life  which  her  soul 
abhorred;  but  she  had  no  friends  to 
apply  to,  they  had  all  renounced  her,  and 
guilt  and  misery  would  undoubtedly  be 
her  future  portion  through  life. 

Crayton  was  possessed  of  many  ami- 
able qualities,  tho  the  peculiar  trait  in 
his  character,  which  we  have  already 
mentioned,  in  a  great  measure  threw  a 
shade  over  them.  He  was  beloved  for  his 
humanity  and  benevolence  by  all  who 
120 


Digression 

knew  him,  but  he  was  easy  and  unsus- 
picious himself,  and  became  a  dupe  to 
the  artifice  of  others. 

He  was,  when  very  young,  united  to 
an  amiable  Parisian  lady,  and  perhaps 
it  was  his  affection  for  her  that  laid  the 
foundation  for  the  partiality  he  ever  re- 
tained for  the  whole  nation.  He  had  by 
her  one  daughter,  who  entered  into  the 
world  but  a  few  hours  before  her  mother 
left  it.  This  lady  was  universally  be- 
loved and  admired,  being  endowed  with 
all  the  virtues  of  her  mother,  without  the 
weakness  of  the  father:  she  was  mar- 
ried to  Major  Beauchamp,  and  was  at 
this  time  in  the  same  fleet  with  her 
father,  attending  her  husband  to  New 
York. 

Crayton  was  melted  by  the  affected 
contrition  and  distress  of  La  Rue;  he 
would  converse  with  her  for  hours,  read 
to  her,  play  cards  with  her,  listen  to  all 
her  complaints,  and  promise  to  protect 
her  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  La  Rue 
121 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

easily  saw  his  character ;  her  sole  aim  was 
to  awaken  a  passion  in  his  bosom  that 
might  turn  out  to  her  advantage,  and  in 
this  aim  she  was  but  too  successful,  for 
before  the  voyage  was  finished,  the  in- 
fatuated colonel  gave  her  from  under  his 
hand  a  promise  of  marriage  on  their  ar- 
rival at  New  York,  under  forfeiture  of 
five  thousand  pounds. 

And  how  did  our  poor  Charlotte  pass 
her  time  during  a  tedious  and  tempest- 
uous passage?  Naturally  delicate,  the 
fatigue  and  sickness  which  she  endured 
rendered  her  so  weak  as  to  be  almost 
entirely  confined  to  her  bed;  yet  the  kind- 
ness and  attention  of  Montraville,  in 
some  measure  contributed  to  alleviate 
her  sufferings,  and  the  hope  of  hearing 
from  her  friends  soon  after  their  arrival, 
kept  up  her  spirits,  and  cheered  many 
a  gloomy  hour. 

But  during  the  voyage  a  great  revolu- 
tion took  place,  not  only  in  the  fortune 
of  La  Rue,  but  in  the  bosom  of  Belcour: 
122 


Digression 

whilst  in  the  pursuit  of  his  amour  with 
mademoiselle,  he  had  attended  little  to 
the  interesting,  inobtrusive  charms  of 
Charlotte;  but  when,  cloyed  by  posses- 
sion, and  disgusted  with  the  art  and  dis- 
simulation of  one,  he  beheld  the  sim- 
plicity and  gentleness  of  the  other,  the 
contrast  became  too  striking  not  to  fill 
him  at  once  with  surprise  and  admira- 
tion. He  frequently  conversed  with 
Charlotte;  he  found  her  sensible,  well 
informed,  but  diffident  and  unassuming. 
The  langor  which  the  fatigue  of  her 
body  and  perturbation  of  her  mind 
spread  over  her  delicate  features,  served 
only,  in  his  opinion,  to  render  her  more 
lovely:  he  knew  that  Montraville  did^not 
design  to  marry  her,  and  he  formed  a 
resolution  to  endeavor  to  gain  her  him- 
self, whenever  Montraville  should  leave 
her. 

Let  not  the  reader  imagine  Belcour's 
designs    were    honorable.      Alas!    when 
once  a  woman  has  forgot  the  respect  due 
123 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

to  herself  by  yielding  to  the  solicitations 
of  illicit  love,  they  [sic]  lose  all  the  con- 
sequence, even  in  the  eyes  of  the  man 
whose  art  has  betrayed  them,  and  for 
whose  sake  they  have  sacrificed  every 
valuable  consideration. 


The  heedless  Fair,  who  stoops  to  guilty  joys, 
A  man  may  pity — but  he  must  despise. 


Nay,  every  libertine  will  think  he  has 
a  right  to  insult  her  with  his  licentious 
passions;  and  should  the  unhappy  crea- 
ture shrink  from  the  insolent  overture,  he 
will  sneeringly  taunt  her  with  pretense 
of  modesty. 


124 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  WEDDING 

ON  the  day  before  their  arrival  at  New 
York,  after  dinner,  Crayton  arose  from 
his  seat,  and  placing  himself  by  mad- 
emoiselle, thus  addressed  the  company — 

"As  we  are  now  nearly  arrived  at  our 
destined  port,  I  think  it  but  my  duty  to 
inform  you,  my  friends,  that  this  lady," 
(taking  her  hand)  "has  placed  herself 
under  my  protection.  I  have  seen  and 
severely  felt  the  anguish  of  her  heart, 
and  through  every  shade  which  cruelty 
or  malice  may  throw  over  her,  can  dis- 
cover the  most  amiable  qualities.  I 
thought  it  but  necessary  to  mention  my 
esteem  for  her  before  our  disembarka- 
tion, as  it  is  my  fixed  resolution,  the 
morning  after  we  land,  to  give  her  an 
undoubted  title  to  my  favor  and  protec- 
tion by  honorably  uniting  my  fate  to 

125 


Cbarlotte  ^Temple 

hers.  I  would  wish  every  gentleman 
hence,  therefore,  to  remember  that  her 
honor  henceforth  is  mine;  and,"  con- 
tinued he,  looking  at  Belcour,  "should 
any  man  presume  to  speak  in  the  least 
disrespectfully  of  her,  I  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  pronounce  him  a  scoundrel!" 

Belcour  cast  at  him  a  smile  of  con- 
tempt, and  bowing  profoundly  low, 
wished  mademoiselle  much  joy  in  the 
proposed  union;  and  assuring  the  colonel 
that  he  need  not  be  in  the  least  appre- 
hensive of  any  one  throwing  the  least 
odium  on  the  character  of  his  lady,  shook 
him  by  the  hand  with  ridiculous  gravity, 
and  left  the  cabin. 

The  truth  was,  he  was  glad  to  be  rid 
of  La  Rue,  and  so  he  was  but  freed  from 
her,  he  cared  not  who  fell  a  victim  to 
her  infamous  arts. 

The  inexperienced  Charlotte  was  as- 
tonished at  what  she  heard.  She  thought 
La  Rue  had,  like  herself,  only  been 
urged  by  the  force  of  her  attachment  to 
126 


s 

- g , 

ft  t  | 

!Z  *£> 


3 

bl     -J 
£      « 


1  :S 


ge.J 

?  ti 

5=  2  ; 


H 


Belcour,  to  quit  her  friends,  and  follow 
him  to  the  seat  of  war:  how  wonder- 
ful, then,  that  she  should  resolve  to 
marry  another  man!  It  was  certainly 
extremely  wrong.  It  was  indelicate. 
She  mentioned  her  thoughts  to  Montra- 
ville.  He  laughed  at  her  simplicity, 
called  her  a  little  idiot,  and  patting  her 
on  the  cheek,  said  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  world. 

"If  the  world  sanctifies  such  things, 
'tis  a  very  bad  world,  I  think,"  said 
Charlotte.  "Why,  I  always  understood 
they  were  to  have  been  married  when 
they  arrived  at  New  York.  I  am  sure 
mademoiselle  told  me  Belcour  promised 
to  marry  her." 

"Well,  and  suppose  he  did?" 

"Why,  he  should  be  obliged  to  keep 
his  word,  I  think." 

"Well,  but  I  suppose  he  has  changed 
his  mind,"  said  Montraville,  "and  then, 
you  know,  the  case  is  altered." 
127 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

Charlotte  looked  at  him  attentively 
for  a  moment.  A  full  sense  of  her  own 
situation  rushed  upon  her  mind.  She 
burst  into  tears,  and  remained  silent. 
Montraville  too  well  understood  the  cause 
of  her  tears.  He  kissed  her  cheek,  and 
bidding  her  not  make  herself  uneasy, 
unable  to  bear  the  silent  but  keen  re- 
monstrance, hastily  left  her. 

The  next  morning  by  sunrise  they 
found  themselves  at  anchor  before  the 
city  of  New  York.  A  boat  was  ordered 
to  convey  the  ladies  on  shore.  Crayton 
accompanied  them;  and  they  were  shown 
to  a  house  of  public  entertainment. 
Scarcely  were  they  seated,  when  the  door 
opened  and  the  colonel  found  himself  in 
the  arms  of  his  daughter,  who  had  land- 
ed a  few  minutes  before  him.  The  first 
transport  of  meeting  subsided,  Crayton 
introduced  his  daughter  to  Mademoiselle 
La  Rue  as  an  old  friend  of  her  mother's, 
(for  the  artful  Frenchwoman  had  really 
128 


H 


made  it  appear  to  the  credulous  colonel 
that  she  was  in  the  same  convent  with  his 
first  wife,  and  tho  much  younger,  had 
received  many  tokens  of  her  esteem  and 
regard). 

"If,  mademoiselle,"  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  "you  were  the  friend  of  my 
mother,  you  must  be  worthy  the  esteem 
of  all  good  hearts/' 

"Mademoiselle  will  soon  honor  our 
family,"  said  Crayton,  "by  supplying 
the  place  that  valuable  woman  filled; 
and  as  you  are  married,  my  dear,  I  think 
you  will  not  blame  -  " 

"Hush,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  :  "I  know  my  duty  too  well 
to  scrutinize  your  conduct.  Be  assured, 
my  dear  father,  your  happiness  is  mine. 
I  shall  rejoice  in  it,  and  sincerely  love 
the  person  who  contributes  to  it.  But 
tell  me,"  continued  she,  turning  to  Char- 
lotte, "who  is  this  lovely  girl?  Is  she 
your  sister,  mademoiselle?" 
129 


Cbatlotte  ZTemple 

A  blush,  deep  as  the  glow  of  the  car- 
nation, suffused  the  cheeks  of  Charlotte. 

"It  is  a  young  lady/'  replied  the 
colonel,  "  who  came  in  the  same  vessel 
with  us  from  England."  He  then  drew 
his  daughter  aside  and  told  her  in  a  whis- 
per, that  Charlotte  was  the  mistress  of 
Montraville. 

"What  a  pity!"  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  softly,  (casting  a  most  compas- 
sionate glance  at  her).  "But  surely  her 
mind  is  not  depraved.  The  goodness  of 
her  heart  is  depicted  in  her  ingenuous 
countenance." 

Charlotte  caught  the  word  pity.  "  And 
am  I  already  fallen  so  low?"  said  she. 
A  sigh  escaped  her,  and  a  tear  was 
ready  to  start,  but  Montraville  appeared, 
and  she  checked  the  rising  emotion. 
Mademoiselle  went  with  the  colonel  and 
his  daughter  to  another  apartment. 
Charlotte  remained  with  Montraville  and 
Belcour.  The  next  morning  the  colonel 
130 


H 


performed  his  promise,  and  La  Rue  be- 
came in  due  form  Mrs.  Crayton,  exulted 
in  her  good  fortune,  and  dared  to-  look 
with  an  eye  of  contempt  on  the  unfortu- 
nate but  far  less  guilty  Charlotte. 

[END  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME] 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE 

A  TALE   OF  TRUTH 

IN   TWO    VOLUMES 

VOLUME  II. 


"She  was  her.  parents'  only  joy: 
They  had  but  one — one  darling  child.' 
— Romeo  and  Juliet. 

"  Her  form  was  faultless,  and  her  mind 

Untainted  yet  by  art, 
Was  noble,  just,  humane,  and  kind, 
And  virtue  warm'd  her  heart. 

But,  ah!  the  cruel  spoiler  came — " 


[The  above  lines,  in  the  original  American  edition,  arc 
given  on  the  title-pages  of  both  volumes.  The  first  two, 
as  shown  here,  are  credited  to  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  but 
they  do  not  appear  to  be  in  that  work.  Other  lines 
which  Mrs.  Rowson  may  have  had  in  mind,  and  at- 
tempted to  quote  from  memory,  appear,  however,  in  Act 
V.,  Scene  V.,  as  follows: 

"But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child, 
But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in." 

The  second  bit  of  verse  seems  to  have  been  written  by 
Mrs.  Rowson  herself.} 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

REFLECTIONS 

"  AND  am  I  indeed  fallen  so  low/'  said 
Charlotte,  "as  to  be  only  pitied?  Will 
the  voice  of  approbation  no  more  meet 
my  ear?  And  shall  I  never  again  pos- 
sess a  friend  whose  face  will  wear  a  smile 
of  joy  whenever  I  approach?  Alas!  how 
thoughtless,  how  dreadfully  imprudent 
have  I  been!  I  know  not  which  is  most 
painful  to  endure — the  sneer  of  contempt, 
or  the  glance  of  compassion  which  is  de- 
picted in  the  various  countenances  of  my 
own  sex:  they  are  both  equally  humili- 
ating. Ah!  my  dear  parents,  could  you 
now  see  the  child  of  your  affections,  the 
daughter  whom  you  so  dearly  loved,  a 
poor,  solitary  being,  without  society,  here 
wearing  out  her  heavy  hours  in  deep 
regret  and  anguish  of  heart,  no  kind 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

friend  of  her  own  sex  to  whom  she  can 
unbosom  her  griefs,  no  beloved  mother, 
no  woman  of  character  will  [sic]  appear 
in  my  company;  and  low  as  your  Char- 
lotte is  fallen,  she  can  not  associate  with 
infamy." 

These  were  the  painful  reflections 
which  occupied  the  mind  of  Charlotte. 
Montraville  had  placed  her  in  a  small 
house  a  few  miles  from  New  York:  he 
gave  her  one  female  attendant,  and  sup- 
plied her  with  what  money  she  wanted; 
but  business  and  pleasure  so  entirely  oc- 
cupied his  time,  that  he  had  little  to 
devote  to  the  woman  whom  he  had 
brought  from  all  her  connections,  and 
robbed  of  innocence.  Sometimes,  in- 
deed, he  would  steal  out  at  the  close  of 
the  evening,  and  pass  a  few  hours  with 
her.  And  then,  so  much  was  she  attach- 
ed to  him,  that  all  her  sorrows  were  for- 
gotten while  blessed  with  his  society: 
she  would  enjoy  a  walk  by  moonlight, 
or  sit  by  him  in  a  little  arbor  at  the  bot- 


IReflections 

torn  of  the  garden,  and  play  on  the  harp, 
accompanying  it  with  her  plaintive,  har- 
monious voice.  But  often,  very  often, 
did  he  promise  to  renew  his  visits,  and 
forgetful  of  his  promise,  leave  her  to 
mourn  her  disappointment.  What  pain- 
ful hours  of  expectation  would  she  pass! 
she  would  sit  at  a  window  which  looked 
toward  a  field  he  used  to  cross,  counting 
the  minutes  and  straining  her  eyes  to 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  his  person,  till, 
blinded  with  tears  of  disappointment, 
she  would  lean  her  head  on  her  hands, 
and  give  free  vent  to  her  sorrows:  then 
catching  at  some  new  hope,  she  would 
again  renew  her  watchful  position  till 
the  shades  of  evening  enveloped  every 
object  in  a  dusky  cloud:  she  would  then 
renew  her  complaints,  and,  with  a  heart 
bursting  with  disappointed  love  and 
wounded  sensibility,  retire  to'  a  bed 
which  remorse  had  strewed  with  thorns, 
and  court  in  vain  that  comforter  of 
weary  nature  (who  seldom  visits  the  un- 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

happy)  to  come  and  steep  her  senses  in 
oblivion. 

Who  can  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
sorrow  that  preyed  upon  the  mind  of 
Charlotte?  The  wife,  whose  breast 
glows  with  affection  to  her  husband, 
and  who  in  return  meets  only  indiffer- 
ence, can  but  faintly  conceive  her 
anguish.  Dreadfully  painful  is  the  situ- 
ation of  such  a  woman,  but  she  has  many 
comforts  of  which  our  poor  Charlotte 
was  deprived.  The  duteous,  faithful 
wife,  tho  treated  with  indifference,  has 
one  solid  pleasure  within  her  own  bosom; 
she  can  reflect  that  she  has  not  deserved 
neglect — that  she  has  ever  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  her  station  with  the  strictest  ex- 
actness; she  may  hope  by  constant  as- 
siduity and  unremitted  attention  to  re- 
call her  wanderer,  and  be  doubly  happy 
in  his  returning  affection;  she  knows  he 
can  not  leave  her  to  unite  himself  to  an- 
other :  he  can  not  cast  her  out  to  poverty 
and  contempt. 

6 


iReflecttons 

She  looks  around  her  and  sees  the 
smile  of  friendly  welcome  or  the  tear  of 
affectionate  consolation  on  the  face  of 
every  person  whom  she  favors  with  her 
esteem;  and  from  all  these  circumstances 
she  gathers  comfort:  but  the  poor  girl 
by  thoughtless  passion  led  astray,  who, 
in  parting  with  her  honor,  has  forfeited 
the  esteem  of  the  very  man  to  whom  she 
has  sacrificed  everything  dear  and  valu- 
able in  life,  feels  his  indifference  in  the 
fruit  of  her  own  folly,  and  laments  her 
want  of  power  to  recall  his  lost  affec- 
tion; she  knows  there  is  no  tie  but 
honor,  and  that,  in  a  man  who  has  been 
guilty  of  seduction,  is  but  very  feeble: 
he  may  leave  her  in  a  moment  to  shame 
and  want;  he  may  marry  and  forsake  her 
forever;  and  should  he,  she  has  no  re- 
dress, no  friendly,  soothing  companion  to 
pour  into  her  wounded  mind  the  balm  of 
consolation,  no  benevolent  hand  to  lead 
her  back  to  the  path  of  rectitude ;  she  has 
disgraced  her  friends,  forfeited  the  good 

7 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

opinion  of  the  world,  and  undone  herself ; 
she  feels  herself  a  poor  solitary  being 
in  the  midst  of  surrounding  multitudes; 
shame  bows  her  to  the  earth,  remorse 
tears  her  distracted  mind,  and  guilt,  pov- 
erty and  disease  close  the  dreadful  scene : 
she  sinks  unnoticed  to  oblivion.  The 
finger  of  contempt  may  point  out  to  some 
passing  daughter  of  youthful  mirth  the 
humble  bed  where  lies  this  frail  sister 
of  mortality;  and  will  she,  in  the  un- 
bounded gayety  of  her  heart,  exult  in 
her  own  unblemished  fame  and  triumph 
over  the  silent  ashes  of  the  dead?  Oh, 
no!  has  she  a  heart  of  sensibility;  she 
will  stop  and  thus  address  the  unhappy 
victim  of  folly — 

"Thou  hadst  thy  faults,  but  sure  thy 
sufferings  have  expatiated  them:  thy  er- 
rors brought  thee  to  an  early  grave;  but 
thou  wert  a  fellow  creature — thou  hast 
been  unhappy — then  be  those  errors  for- 
gotten." 

Then,  as  she  stoops  to  pluck  the  nox- 
8 


IReflections 

ious  weed  from  off  the  sod,  a  tear  will 
fall  and  consecrate  the  spot  to  Charity. 

Forever  honored  be  the  sacred  drop  of 
humanity;  the  angel  of  mercy  shall  re- 
cord its  source,  and  the  soul  from  whence 
^  sprang  shall  be  immortal. 

My  dear  madam,  contract  not  your 
brow  into  a  frown  of  disapprobation.  I 
mean  not  to  extenuate  the  faults  of  those 
unhappy  women  who  fall  victims  to 
guilt  and  folly;  but  surely,  when  we  re- 
flect how  many  errors  we  are  ourselves 
subject  to,  how  many  secret  faults  lie 
hid  in  the  recesses  of  our  hearts, 
which  we  should  blush  to  have  brought 
into  open  day  (and  yet  those  faults  re- 
quire the  lenity  and  pity  of  a  benevolent 
judge,  or  awful  would  be  our  prospect 
of  futurity).  I  say,  my  dear  madam, 
when  we  consider  this,  we  surely  may 
pity  the  faults  of  others. 

Believe  me,  many  an  unfortunate  fe- 
male, who  has  once  strayed  into  the 
thorny  paths  of  vice,  would  gladly  re- 


Gbarlotte  ZTempie 

turn  to  virtue  was  [sic]  any  generous 
friend  to  endeavor  to  raise  and  reassure 
her ;  but  alas !  it  can  not  be,  you  say ;  the 
world  would  deride  and  scoff.  Then  let 
me  tell  you,  madam,  it  is  a  very  unfeeling 
world,  and  does  not  deserve  half  the^ 
blessings  which  a  bountiful  Providence 
showers  upon  it. 

Oh,  thou  benevolent  Giver  of  all  good ! 
how  shall  we  erring  mortals  dare  to  look 
up  to  thy  mercy  in  the  great  day  of 
retribution,  if  we  now  uncharitably  refuse 
to  overlook  the  errors,  or  alleviate  the 
miseries  of  our  fellow  creatures ! 


10 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  MISTAKE   DISCOVERED 

JULIA  FRANKLIN1  was  the  only  child 
of  a  man  of  large  property,  who  at  the 
age  of  eighteen  left  her  independent  mis- 
tress of  an  unencumbered  income  of 
seven  hundred  a  year;  she  was  a  girl  of 
a  lively  disposition,  and  humane,  suscep- 
tible heart;  she  resided  in  New  York 
with  an  uncle  who  loved  her  too  welli 
and  had  too  high  an  opinion  of  her  pru- 
dence, to  scrutinize  her  actions  so  much 
as  would  have  been  necessary  with  many 
young  ladies  who  were  not  blest  with 
her  discretion:  she  was,  at  the  time 
Montraville  arrived  at  New  York,  the 
life  of  society,  and  the  universal  toast. 


1  Writers,  not  knowing  that  Colonel  Montresor  in 
1774  was  already  married  to  Miss  Frances  Tucker,  have 
been  led  into  taking  Julia  Franklin  for  a  real  person, 
identifying  her  with  the  family  from  which  Franklin 
Square  got  its  name. 


II 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

Montraville  was  introduced  to  her  by  the 
following  accident. 

One  night  when  he  was  upon  guard, 
a  dreadful  fire  broke  out  near  Mr.  Frank- 
lin's house,  which  in  a  few  hours  reduced 
that  and  several  others  to  ashes;  fortu- 
nately no  lives  were  lost,  and  by  the  as- 
siduity of  the  soldiers  much  valuable 
property  was  saved  from  the  flames.  In 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  an  old  gentle- 
man came  up  to  Montraville,  and  putting 
a  small  box  into  his  hands,  cried — "  Keep 
it,  my  good  sir,  till  I  come  to  you  again ;" 
and  then  rushing  again  into  the  thickest 
of  the  crowd,  Montraville  saw  him  no 
more.  He  waited  till  the  fire  was  quite 
extinguished,  and  the  mob  dispersed,  but 
in  vain:  the  old  gentleman  did  not  ap- 
pear to  claim  his  property;  and  Montra- 
ville, fearing  to  make  any  enquiry,  lest 
he  should  meet  with  impostors  who 
might  lay  claim  without  any  legal  right 
to  the  box,  carried  it  to  his  lodgings,  and 
locked  it  up:  he  naturally  imagined  that 
12 


H 


the  person  who  committed  it  to  his  care 
knew  him,  and  would  in  a  day  or  two 
reclaim  it;  but  several  weeks  passed  on, 
and  no  enquiry  being  made,  he  began  to 
be  uneasy,  and  resolved  to  examine  the 
contents  of  the  box,  and  if  they  were,  as 
he  supposed,  valuable,  to  spare  no  pains 
to  discover  and  restore  them  to  the 
owner.  Upon  opening  it,  he  found  it 
contained  jewels  to  a  large  amount, 
about  two  hundred  pounds  in  money, 
and  a  miniature  picture  set  for  a  brace- 
let. On  examining  the  picture,  he 
thought  he  had  somewhere  seen  features 
very  like  it,  but  could  not  recollect  where. 
A  few  days  after,  being  at  a  public  as- 
sembly, he  saw  Miss  Franklin,  and  the 
likeness  was  too  evident  to  be  mistaken: 
he  inquired  among  his  brother  officers  if 
any  of  them  knew  her,  and  found  one 
who  was  upon  terms  of  intimacy  in  the 
family:  "then  introduce  me  to  her  im- 
mediately," said  he,  "for  I  am  certain 

13 


Gbariotte  Uemple 


I  can  inform  her  of  something  which 
will  give  her  peculiar  pleasure." 

He  was  immediately  introduced,  found 
she  was  the  owner  of  the  jewels,  and 
was  invited  to  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing, in  order  to  their  restoration.  This 
whole  evening  Montraville  was  honored 
with  Julia's  hand;  the  lively  sallies  of 
her  wit,  the  elegance  of  her  manner, 
powerfully  charmed  him:  he  forgot 
Charlotte,  and  indulged  himself  in  say- 
ing everything  that  was  polite  and  ten- 
der to  Julia.  But  on  retiring,  recollec- 
tion returned.  "What  am  I  about?" 
said  he:  "tho  I  can  not  marry  Char- 
lotte, I  can  not  be  villain  enough  to  for- 
sake her,  nor  must  I  dare  to  trifle  with 
the  heart  of  Julia  Franklin.  I  will  re- 
turn this  box,"  said  he,  "which  has  been 
the  source  of  so  much  uneasiness  already, 
and  in  the  evening  pay  a  visit  to  my 
poor,  melancholy  Charlotte,  and  endeavor 
to  forget  this  fascinating  Julia." 

He  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  taking 

14 


H  /IDistafee 

the  picture  out,  "  I  will  reserve  this  from 
the  rest,"  said  he,  "and  by  presenting  it 
to  her  when  she  thinks  it  is  lost,  enhance 
the  value  of  the  obligation."  He  re- 
paired to  Mr.  Franklin's,  and  found 
Julia  in  the  breakfast  parlor  alone. 

"How  happy  am  I,  madam,"  said  he, 
"that  being  the  fortunate  instrument  of 
saving  these  jewels,  has  been  the  means 
of  procuring  me  the  acquaintance  of  so 
amiable  a  lady.  There  are  the  jewels 
and  money  all  safe." 

"But  where  is  the  picture,  sir?"  said 
Julia. 

"  Here,  madam.  I  would  not  willingly 
part  with  it." 

"  It  is  the  portrait  of  my  mother,"  said 
she,  taking  it  from  him ;  "  'tis  all  that  re- 
mains." She  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and 
a  tear  trembled  in  her  eyes.  Montraville 
glanced  his  eye  on  her  gray  nightgown 
and  black  ribbon,  and  his  own  feelings 
prevented  a  reply. 

Julia    Franklin   was   the   very   reverse 


Gbariotte  Uemple 

of  Charlotte  Temple:  she  was  tall,  ele- 
gantly shaped,  and  possessed  much  of  the 
air  and  manner  of  a  woman  of  fashion; 
her  complexion  was  a  clear  brown,  enliv- 
ened with  the  glow  of  health;  her  eyes, 
full,  black,  and  sparkling,  darted  their 
intelligent  glances  through  long  silken 
lashes;  her  hair  was  shining  brown,  and 
her  features  regular  and  striking;  there 
was  an  air  of  innocent  gayety  that  played 
about  her  countenance  where  good 
humor  sat  triumphant. 

"  I  have  been  mistaken/'  said  Montra- 
ville.  "  I  imagined  I  loved  Charlotte :  but, 
alas!  I  am  now  too  late  convinced  my 
attachment  to  her  was  merely  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment.  I  fear  I  have  not 
only  entailed  lasting  misery  on  that  poor 
girl,  but  also  thrown  a  barrier  in  the 
way  of  my  own  happiness  which  it  will 
be  impossible  to  surmount.  I  feel  I  love 
Julia  Franklin  with  ardor  and  sincerity; 
yet,  when  in  her  presence,  I  am  sensible 
of  my  own  inability  to  offer  a  heart 
16 


H  /HMstafee 

worthy  her  acceptance,  and  remain 
silent." 

Full  of  these  painful  thoughts,  Mon- 
traville  walked  out  to  see  Charlotte:  she 
saw  him  approach,  and  ran  out  to  meet 
him:  she  banished  from  her  countenance 
the  air  of  discontent,  which  ever  ap- 
peared when  he  was  absent,  and  met 
him  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me, 
Montraville,"  said  she,  "and  was  very 
unhappy." 

"I  shall  never  forget  you,  Charlotte," 
he  replied,  pressing  her  hand. 

The  uncommon  gravity  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  the  brevity  of  his  reply 
alarmed  her. 

"You  are  not  well,"  said  she;  "your 
hand  is  hot;  your  eyes  are  heavy;  you 
are  very  ill." 

"  I  am  a  villain,"  said  he  mentally,  as 
he  turned  from  her  to  hide  his  emotions. 

"But  come,"  continued  she,  tenderly, 
"you  shall  go  to  bed,  and  I  will  sit  by 

17 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

and  watch  you;  you  will  be  better  when 
you  have  slept." 

Montraville  was  glad  to  retire,  and  by 
pretending  to  sleep,  hide  the  agitation  of 
his  mind  from  her  penetrating  eye.  Char- 
lotte watched  by  him  till  a  late  hour, 
and  then,  lying  softly  down  by  his  side, 
sunk  into  a  profound  sleep,  from  which 
she  awoke  not  till  late  the  next  morning. 


18 


CHAPTER  XX 

Virtue  never  appears  so  amiable  as  when 
reaching  forth  her  hand  to  raise  a  fallen 
sister. 

— Chapter  of  Accidents. 

WHEN  Charlotte  awoke  she  missed 
Montraville;  but  thinking  he  might  have 
arisen  early  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the 
morning,  she  was  preparing  to  follow 
him,  when  casting  her  eye  on  the  table, 
she  saw  a  note,  and  opening  it  hastily, 
found  these  words — 

"My  dear  Charlotte  must  not  be  surprised 
if  she  does  not  see  me  again  for  some  time: 
unavoidable  business  will  prevent  me  that 
pleasure:  be  assured  I  am  quite  well  this 
morning;  and  what  your  fond  imagination 
magnified  into  illness,  was  nothing  more  than 
fatigue,  which  a  few  hours'  rest  has  entirely 
removed.  Make  yourself  happy,  and  be  cer- 
tain of  the  unalterable  friendship  of 

MONTRAVILLE." 

"Friendship!"     said     Charlotte,     em- 
19 


Cbatlotte  Uemple 

phatically,  as  she  finished  the  note.  "Is 
it  come  to  this  at  last?  Alas!  poor  for- 
saken Charlotte!  Thy  doom  is  now  but 
too  apparent.  Montraville  is  no  longer 
interested  in  thy  happiness;  and  shame, 
remorse,  and  disappointed  love  will  hence- 
forth be  thy  only  attendants." 

Tho  these  were  the  ideas  that  in- 
voluntarily rushed  upon  the  mind  of 
Charlotte,  as  she  perused  the  fatal  note, 
yet,  after  a  few  hours  had  elapsed,  the 
siren  Hope  again  took  possession  of  her 
bosom,  and  she  flattered  herself  she  could 
on  a  second  perusal  discover  an  air  of 
tenderness  in  the  few  lines  he  had  left, 
which  at  first  had  escaped  her  notice. 

"  He  certainly  can  not  be  so  base  as  to 
leave  me,"  said  she;  "and  in  styling  him- 
self my  friend,  does  he  not  promise  to 
protect  me.  I  will  not  torment  myself 
with  these  causeless  fears;  I  will  place 
a  confidence  in  his  honor;  and  sure  he 
will  not  be  so  unjust  as  to  abuse  it." 

Just  as  she  had,  by  this  manner  of 
20 


I 

IDirtue— IKIlben  /IDost  Hmiable 


reasoning,  brought  her  mind  to  some 
tolerable  degree  of  composure,  she  was 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  Belcour.  The 
dejection  visible  in  Charlotte's  counte- 
nance, her  swollen  eyes  and  neglected  at- 
tire, at  once  told  him  she  was  unhappy: 
He  made  no  doubt  but  Montraville  had, 
by  his  coldness,  alarmed  her  suspicions, 
and  was  resolved,  if  possible,  to  rouse 
her  to  jealousy,  urge  her  to  reproach  him, 
and  by  that  means  occasion  a  breach  be- 
tween them.  "  If  I  can  once  convince 
her  that  she  has  a  rival,"  said  he,  "she 
will  listen  to  my  passion,  if  it  is  only  to 
revenge  his  slights."  Belcour  knew  but 
little  of  the  female  heart;  and  what  he 
did  know  was  only  of  those  of  loose  and 
dissolute  lives.  He  had  no  idea  that  a 
woman  might  fall  a  victim  to  imprudence, 
and  yet  retain  so  strong  a  sense  of  honor 
as  to  reject,  with  horror  and  contempt, 
every  solicitation  to  a  second  fault.  He 
never  imagined  that  a  gentle,  generous 
female  heart,  once  tenderly  attached, 
21 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

when  treated  with  unkindness,  might 
break,  but  would  never  harbor  a  thought 
of  revenge. 

His  visit  was  not  long,  but  before  he 
went,  he  fixed  a  scorpion  in  the  heart  of 
Charlotte,  whose  venom  embittered 
every  future  hour  of  her  life. 

We  will  now  return,  for  a  moment,  to 
Colonel  Crayton.  He  had  been  three 
months  married,  and  in  that  little  time 
had  discovered  that  the  conduct  of  his 
lady  was  not  so  prudent  as  it  ought  to 
have  been:  but  remonstrance  was  vain; 
her  temper  was  violent;  and  to  the 
colonel's  great  misfortune,  he  had  con- 
ceived a  sincere  affection  for  her:  she 
saw  her  own  power,  and  with  the  art  of 
a  Circe,  made  every  action  appear  to  him 
in  what  light  she  pleased:  his  acquaint- 
ances laughed  at  his  blindness,  his 
friends  pitied  his  infatuation,  his  amiable 
daughter,  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  in  secret  de- 
plored the  loss  of  her  father's  affection, 
and  grieved  that  he  should  be  so  entirely 

22 


IDirtue— Wben  /iDost  amiable 


swayed    by    an    artful    and,    she    much 
feared,  infamous  woman. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  mild  and  engag- 
ing; she  loved  not  the  hurry  and  bustle 
of  a  city,  and  had  prevailed  on  her  hus- 
band to  take  a  house  a  few  miles  from 
New  York.  Chance  led  her  into  the 
same  neighborhood  with  Charlotte;  their 
houses  stood  within  a  short  space  of  each 
other,  and  their  gardens  joined.  She 
had  not  been  long  in  her  new  habitation 
before  the  figure  of  Charlotte  struck  her ; 
she  recollected  her  interesting  features; 
she  saw  the  melancholy  so  conspicuous  in 
her  countenance,  and  her  heart  bled  at 
the  reflection  that,  perhaps,  deprived  of 
honor,  friends,  all  that  was  valuable  in 
life,  she  was  doomed  to  linger  out  a 
wretched  existence  in  a  strange  land, 
and  sink  broken-hearted  into  an  untimely 
grave.  "Would  to  Heaven  I  could  snatch 
her  from  so  hard  a  fate ! "  said  she ;  "  but 
the  merciless  world  has  barred  the  doors 
of  compassion  against  a  poor,  weak  girl, 

23 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

who,  perhaps,  had  she  one  kind  friend  to 
raise  and  reassure  her,  would  gladly  re- 
turn to  peace  and  virtue;  nay,  even  the 
woman  who  dares  to  pity  and  endeavor 
to  recall  a  wandering  sister,  incurs  the 
sneer  of  contempt  and  ridicule,  for  an 
action  in  which  even  angels  are  said  to 
rejoice." 

The  longer  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  a 
witness  to  the  solitary  life  Charlotte  led, 
the  more  she  wished  to  speak  to  her ;  and 
often  as  she  saw  her  cheeks  wet  with  the 
tears  of  anguish,  she  would  say — "  Dear 
sufferer,  how  gladly  would  I  pour  into 
your  heart  the  balm  of  consolation,  were 
it  not  for  the  fear  of  derision." 

But  an  accident  soon  happened  which 
made  her  resolve  to  brave  even  the 
scoffs  of  the  world,  rather  than  not 
enjoy  the  heavenly  satisfaction  of  com- 
forting a  desponding  fellow  creature. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  an  early  riser. 
She  was  one  morning  walking  in  the  gar- 
den, leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  when 
24 


IDirtue— TKIlben  /IDost  Hmtabie 


the  sound  of  a  harp  attracted  their  no- 
tice: they  listened  attentively,  and  heard 
a  soft,  melodious  voice,  distinctly  sing 
the  following  stanzas : 1 

"  Thou  glorious  orb,  supremely  bright, 

Just  rising  from  the  sea, 
To  cheer  all  nature  with  thy  light 
What  are  thy  beams  to  me? 

"  In  vain  thy  glories  bid  me  rise, 
To   hail   the   new-born   day, 
Alas!  my  morning  sacrifice, 
Is  still  to  weep  and  pray. 

"  For  what  are  nature's  charms  conbin'd 

To  one  whose  weary  breast 
Can  neither  peace  nor  comfort  find, 
Nor  friend  whereon  to  rest? 

"  Oh !  never,  never !  whilst  I  live 

Can  my  heart's  anguish  cease; 
Come,  friendly  death,  thy  mandate  give, 
And  let  me  be  at  peace." 

"Tis     poor     Charlotte!"     said     Mrs. 


1  Attempts  made  in  several  directions  to  trace  the 
authorship  of  these  lines  to  some  well-known  poet  or 
hymn  writer  have  not  succeeded.  Mrs.  Rowson  may 
have  written  them  herself. 

Some  of  the  later  editions  do  not  contain  the  first 
stanza  of  this  poem,  the  omission  of  which  must  have 
been  due  to  carelessness  rather  than  design,  inasmuch 
as  the  reader  is  left  without  knowledge  of  the  noun  to 
which  the  pronoun  "  thy "  refers  in  the  line  "  In  vain 
thy  glories  bid  me  rise." 

25 


Cbarlotte  tlemple 

Beauchamp,  the  pellucid  drop  of  human- 
ity stealing  down  her  cheek. 

Captain  Beauchamp  was  alarmed  at 
her  emotion.  "What,  Charlotte?"  said 
he.  "Do  you  know  her?" 

In  the  accent  of  a  pitying  angel  did 
she  disclose  to  her  husband  Charlotte's 
unhappy  situation,  and  the  frequent 
wish  she  had  formed  of  being  serviceable 
to  her.  "I  fear,"  continued  she,  "the 
poor  girl  has  been  basely  betrayed;  and 
if  I  thought  you  would  not  blame  me,  I 
would  pay  her  a  visit,  offer  her  my 
friendship,  and  endeavor  to  restore  to 
her  heart  that  peace  she  seems  to  have 
lost,  and  so  pathetically  laments.  Who 
knows,  my  dear,"  laying  her  hand  affec- 
tionately on  his  arm,  "who  knows  but 
she  has  left  some  kind,  affectionate  par- 
ents to  lament  her  errors,  and  would  she 
return,  they  might  with  rapture  receive 
the  poor  penitent,  and  wash  away  her 
faults  in  tears  of  joy?  Oh!  what  a 
glorious  reflection  would  it  be  for  me 
26 


Dirtue— Mben  /Best  Hmiable 


could  I  be  the  happy  instrument  of  re- 
storing her.  Her  heart  may  not  be  de- 
praved, Beauchamp." 

"Exalted  woman!"  cried  Beauchamp, 
embracing  her,  "how  dost  thou  rise  ev- 
ery moment  in  my  esteem.  Follow  the 
impulse  of  thy  generous  heart,  my 
Emily.  Let  prudes  and  fools  censure, 
if  they  dare,  and  blame  a  sensibility  they 
never  felt;  I  will  exultingly  tell  them 
that  the  heart  that  is  truly  virtuous  is 
ever  inclined  to  pity  and  forgive  the 
errors  of  its  fellow  creatures." 

A  beam  of  exulting  joy  played  round 
the  animated  countenance  of  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  at  these  encomiums  bestowed  on 
her  by  a  beloved  husband;  the  most  de- 
lightful sensations  pervaded  her  heart; 
and,  having  breakfasted,  she  prepared  to 
visit  Charlotte. 


27 


CHAPTER  XXI1 


Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 
To  hide  the  fault  I  see, 

That  mercy  I  to  others  show 
That  mercy  show  to  me. — Pope. 


WHEN  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  dressed 
she  began  to  feel  embarrassed  at  the 
thought  of  beginning  an  acquaintance 
with  Charlotte,  and  was  distressed  how 
to  make  the  first  visit.  "  I  can  not  go 
without  some  introduction,"  said  she.  "  It 
will  look  so  like  impertinent  curiosity." 
At  length,  recollecting  herself,  she 
stepped  into  the  garden,  and,  gathering 
a  few  fine  cucumbers,  took  them  in  her 
hand  by  way  of  apology  for  her  visit. 

A  glow  of  conscious  shame  vermil- 
ioned Charlotte's  face  as  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  entered. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  madam/'   said 


1  Many  editions  have  had  for  this  chapter  the  inter- 
polated title,  "A  Benevolent  Visit." 

28 


Hnotber's  Moe 

she,  "for  not  having  before  paid  my  re- 
spects to  so  amiable  a  neighbor;  but  we 
English  people  always  keep  up  that  re- 
serve which  is  the  characteristic  of  our 
nation  wherever  we  go.  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  bring  you  a  few  cucumbers, 
for  I  had  observed  you  had  none  in  your 
garden." 

Charlotte,  tho  naturally  polite  and 
well-bred,  was  so  confused  she  could 
hardly  speak.  Her  kind  visitor  endeav- 
ored to  relieve  her  by  not  noticing  her 
embarrassment.  "I  am  come,  madam," 
continued  she,  "  to  request  you  will  spend 
the  day  with  me.  I  shall  be  alone;  and 
as  we  are  both  strangers  in  this  country, 
we  may  hereafter  be  extremely  happy 
in  each  other's  friendship." 

"Your  friendship,  madam,"  said  Char- 
lotte, blushing,  "is  an  honor  to  all  who 
are  favored  with  it.  Little  as  I  have 
seen  of  this  part  of  the  world,  I  am  no 
stranger  to  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  goodness 
of  heart  and  known  humanity;  but  my 
29 


Cbarlotte  ZTempie 

friendship "  She  paused,  glanced 

her  eye  upon  her  own  visible  situation, 
and  in  spite  of  her  endeavors  to  suppress 
them,  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  guessed  the  source 
from  whence  those  tears  flowed.  'You 
seem  unhappy,  madam,"  said  she :  "  shall 
I  be  thought  worthy  your  confidence? 
Will  you  intrust  me  with  the  cause  of 
your  sorrow,  and  rest  on  my  assurances 
to  exert  my  utmost  power  to  serve  you." 
Charlotte  returned  a  look  of  gratitude, 
but  could  not  speak,  and  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  continued — "My  heart  was  inter- 
ested in  your  behalf  the  first  moment  I 
saw  you;  and  I  only  lament  I  had  not 
made  earlier  overtures  towards  an  ac- 
quaintance; but  I  flatter  myself  you  will 
henceforth  consider  me  as  your  friend." 

"Oh,  madam!"  cried  Charlotte,  "I 
have  forfeited  the  good  opinion  of  all  my 
friends;  I  have  forsaken  them,  and  un- 
done myself." 

"Come,   come,   my   dear,"    said   Mrs. 

30 


Hnotber's  Woe 

Beauchamp,  "you  must  not  indulge  these 
gloomy  thoughts:  you  are  not,  I  hope, 
so  miserable  as  you  imagine  yourself: 
endeavor  to  be  composed,  and  let  me  be 
favored  with  your  company  at  dinner, 
when,  if  you  can  bring  yourself  to  think 
me  your  friend  a!nd  repose  a  confidence  in 
me,  I  am  ready  to  convince  you  it 
shall  not  be  abused."  She  then  arose 
and  bade  her  good-morning. 

At  the  dining  hour,  Charlotte  repaired 
to  Mrs.  Beauchamp's,  and  during  dinner 
assumed  as  composed  an  aspect  as  possi- 
ble; but  when  the  cloth  was  removed, 
she  summoned  all  her  resolution,  and  de- 
termined to  make  Mrs.  Beauchamp  ac- 
quainted with  every  circumstance  pre- 
ceding her  unfortunate  elopement,  and 
the  earnest  desire  she  had  to  quit  a  way 
of  life  so  repugnant  to  her  feelings. 

With  the  benignant  aspect  of  an  angel 
of  mercy,  did  Mrs.  Beauchamp  listen  to 
the  artless  tale:  she  was  shocked  to  the 
soul  to  find  how  large  a  share  La  Rue 

31 


Gbarlotte  Uempie 

had  in  the  seduction  of  this  amiable  girl, 
and  a  tear  fell  when  she  reflected  so 
vile  a  woman  was  now  the  wife  of  her 
father.  When  Charlotte  had  finished, 
she  gave  her  a  little  time  to  collect  her 
scattered  spirits,  and  then  asked  her  if 
she  had  never  written  to  her  friends. 

"Oh,  yes,  madam,"  said  she,  "fre- 
quently: but  I  have  broke  their  hearts; 
they  are  all  either  dead,  or  have  cast  me 
off  forever,  for  I  have  never  received  a 
single  line  from  them." 

"I  rather  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  "they  have  never  had  your  let- 
ters: but  suppose  you  were  to  hear  from 
them,  and  they  were  willing  to  receive 
you,  would  you  then  leave  this  cruel 
Montraville,  and  return  to  them?" 

"Would  I?"  said  Charlotte,  clasping 
her  hands;  "would  not  the  poor  sailor 
tossed  on  a  tempestuous  ocean,  threat- 
ened every  moment  with  death,  gladly 
return  to  the  shore  he  had  left  to  trust  to 
its  deceitful  calmness?  Oh,  my  dear 

32 


>dnotber's  TPttloe 

madam,  I  would  return,  tho  to  do  it  I 
were  obliged  to  walk  barefoot  over  a 
burning  desert,  and  beg  a  scanty  pittance 
of  each  traveler  to  support  my  existence. 
I  would  endure  it  all  cheerfully,  could 
I  but  once  more  see  my  dear,  blessed 
mother,  hear  her  pronounce  my  pardon, 
and  bless  me  before  I  died;  but  alas! 
I  shall  never  see  her  more;  she  has  blot- 
ted the  ungrateful  Charlotte  from  her 
remembrance,  and  I  shall  sink  to  the 
grave  loaded  with  her's  and  my  father's 


curse." 


Mrs.  Beauchamp  endeavored  to  soothe 
her.  "You  shall  write  to  them  again," 
said  she,  "and  I  will  see  that  the  letter 
is  sent  by  the  first  packet  that  sails  for 
England;  in  the  meantime,  keep  up  your 
spirits,  and  hope  everything  by  daring  to 
deserve  it." 

She  then  turned  the  conversation,  and 
Charlotte,  having  taken  a  cup  of  tea, 
wished  her  benevolent  friend  a  good- 
evening. 

33 


CHAPTER   XXII 

SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART 

WHEN  Charlotte  got  home  she  en- 
deavored to  collect  her  thoughts,  and 
took  up  a  pen,  in  order  to  address  those 
dear  parents,  whom,  spite  of  her  errors, 
she  still  loved  with  the  utmost  tender- 
ness, but  vain  was  every  effort  to  write 
with  the  least  coherence. 

Her  tears  fell  so  fast,  they  almost 
blinded  her;  and  as  she  proceeded  to  de- 
scribe her  unhappy  situation,  she  became 
so  agitated  that  she  was  obliged  to  give 
over  the  attempt,  and  retire  to  bed, 
where,  overcome  with  the  fatigue  her 
mind  had  undergone,  she  fell  into  a 
slumber  which  greatly  refreshed  her,  and 
she  arose  in  the  morning  with  spirits 
more  adequate  to  the  painful  task  she 
had  to  perform,  and  after  several  at- 

34 


Weart  Sorrows 

tempts,  at  length  concluded  the  follow- 
ing letter  to  her  mother : 

"NEW  YORK. 
"To  MRS.  TEMPLE: 

"Will  my  once  kind,  my  ever-beloved  moth- 
er, deign  to  receive  a  letter  from  her  guilty, 
but  repentant  child?  or  has  she,  justly  incensed 
at  my  ingratitude,  driven  the  unhappy  Char- 
lotte from  her  remembrance?  Alas!  thou  much 
injured  mother,  shouldst  thou  even  disown  me, 
I  dare  not  complain,  because  I  know  I  have 
deserved  it:  but  yet,  believe  me,  guilty  as  I 
am,  and  cruelly  as  I  have  disappointed  the 
hopes  of  the  fondest  parents  that  ever  girl  had, 
even  in  the  moment  when,  forgetful  of  my 
duty,  I  fled  from  you  and  happiness — even 
then  I  loved  you  most,  and  my  heart  bled  at 
the  thought  of  what  you  would  suffer.  Oh! 
never — never !  whilst  I  have  existence,  will  the 
agony  of  that  moment  be  erased  from  my 
memory.  It  seemed  like  the  separation  of  soul 
and  body.  What  can  I  plead  in  excuse  for  my 
conduct?  Alas!  nothing!  That  I  loved  my 
seducer  is  but  too  true !  Yet,  powerful  as  that 
passion  is,  when  operating  in  a  young  heart 
glowing  with  sensibility,  it  never  would  have 
conquered  my  affection  to  you,  my  beloved 

35 


Gbariotte  Uemple 

parents,  had  I  not  been  encouraged,  nay, 
urged  to  take  the  fatally  imprudent  step  by 
one  of  my  own  sex,  who,  under  the  mask  of 
friendship,  drew  me  on  to  ruin.  Yet,  think  not 
your  Charlotte  was  so  lost  as  to  voluntarily 
rush  into  a  life  of  infamy ;  no,  my  dear  mother, 
deceived  by  the  specious  appearance  of  my 
betrayer,  and  every  suspicion  lulled  asleep  by 
the  most  solemn  promises  of  marriage,  I 
thought  not  those  promises  would  so  easily  be 
forgotten.  I  never  once  reflected  that  the  man 
who  could  stoop  to  seduction,  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  forsake  the  wretched  object  of  his  pas- 
sion, whenever  his  capricious  heart  grew 
weary  of  her  tenderness.  When  we  arrived 
at  this  place,  I  vainly  expected  him  to  fulfil 
his  engagements;  but  was  at  last  fatally  con- 
vinced he  never  intended  to  make  me  his  wife, 
or  if  he  had  once  thought  of  it  his  mind  was 
now  altered.  I  scorned  to  claim  from  his  hu- 
manity what  I  could  not  obtain  from  his  love : 
I  was  conscious  of  having  forfeited  the  only 
gem  that  could  render  me  respectable  in  the 
eye  of  the  world.  I  locked  my  sorrows  in  my 
own  bosom,  and  bore  my  injuries  in  silence. 
But  how  shall  I  proceed?  This  man,  this 
cruel  Montraville,  for  whom  I  sacrificed  honor, 

36 


Heart  Sorrows 

happiness,  and  the  love  of  my  friends,  no 
longer  looks  on  me  with  affection,  but  scorns 
the  credulous  girl  whom  his  art  has  made 
miserable.  Could  you  see  me,  my  dear  par- 
ents, without  society,  without  friends,  stung 
with  remorse,  and  (I  feel  the  burning  blush 
of  shame  dye  my  cheeks  while  I  write  it)  tor- 
tured with  the  pangs  of  disappointed  love; 
cut  to  the  soul  by  the  indifference  of  him,  who, 
having  deprived  me  of  every  other  comfort, 
no  longer  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  soothe 
the  heart  where  he  has  planted  the  thorn  of 
never-ceasing  regret!  My  daily  employment 
is  to  think  of  you  and  weep,  to  pray  for  your 
happiness,  and  deplore  my  own  folly :  my 
nights  are  scarce  more  happy ;  for,  if  by  chance 
I  close  my  weary  eyes,  and  hope  some  small 
forgetfulness  of  sorrow,  some  little  time 
to  pass  in  sweet  oblivion,  fancy,  still  waking, 
wafts  me  home  to  you :  I  see  your  beloved 
forms ;  I  kneel  and  hear  the  blessed  words  of 
peace  and  pardon.  Ecstatic  joy  pervades  my 
soul ;  I  reach  my  arms  to  catch  your  dear  em- 
braces ;  the  motion  chases  the  illusive  dream ; 
I  wake  to  real  misery.  At  other  times  I  see 
my  father,  angry  and  frowning,  point  to  horrid 
caves,  where,  on  the  cold,  damp  ground,  in  the 

37 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

agonies  of  death,  I  see  my  dear  mother  and 
my  revered  grandfather.  I  strive  to  raise  you ; 
you  push  me  from  you,  and  shrieking,  cry: 
'  Charlotte,  thou  has  murdered  me !'  Horror 
and  despair  tear  every  tortured  nerve;  I  start 
and  leave  my  restless  bed,  weary  and  unre- 
freshed. 

"  Shocking  as  these  reflections  are,  I  have 
yet  one  more  dreadful  than  the  rest.  Mother, 
my  dear  mother!  do  not  let  me  quite  break 
your  heart  when  I  tell  you,  in  a  few  months 
I  shall  bring  into  the  world  an  innocent  wit- 
ness of  my  guilt.  Oh!  my  bleeding  heart,  I 
shall  bring  a  poor  little  helpless  creature  heir 
to  infamy  and  shame. 

"This  alone  has  urged  me  once  more  to  ad- 
dress you,  to  interest  you  in  behalf  of  this  poor 
unborn,  and  beg  you  to  extend  your  protec- 
tion to  the  child  of  your  lost  Charlotte ;  for  my 
own  part,  I  have  wrote  so  often,  so  frequently 
have  pleaded  for  forgiveness,  and  entreated  to 
be  received  once  more  beneath  the  paternal 
roof,  that,  having  received  no  answer,  nor  even 
one  line,  I  much  fear  you  have  cast  me  from 
you  forever. 

"But  sure  you  can  not  refuse  to  protect  my 
innocent  infant :  it  partakes  not  of  its  mother's 

38 


ffieart  Sorrows 

guilt.  Oh!  my  father,  oh!  beloved  mother, 
now  do  I  feel  the  anguish  I  inflicted  on  your 
hearts  recoiling  with  double  force  upon  my 
own. 

"If  my  child  should  be  a  girl  (which 
Heaven  forbid),  tell  her  the  unhappy  fate  of 
her  mother,  and  teach  her  to  avoid  my  errors; 
if  a  boy,  teach  him  to  lament  my  miseries,  but 
tell  him  not  who  inflicted  them,  lest,  in  wish- 
ing to  revenge  his  mother's  injuries,  he  should 
wound  the  peace  of  his  father. 

"And  now,  dear  friends  of  my  soul,  kind 
guardians  of  my  infancy,  farewell.  I  feel  I 
never  more  must  hope  to  see  you ;  the  anguish 
of  my  heart  strikes  at  the  strings  of  life,  and 
in  a  short  time  I  shall  be  at  rest.  Oh,  could 
I  but  receive  your  blessing  and  forgiveness 
before  I  died,  it  would  smooth  my  passage  to 
the  peaceful  grave,  and  be  a  blessed  foretaste 
of  a  happy  eternity.  I  beseech  you,  curse  me 
not,  my  adored  parents ;  but  let  a  tear  of  pity 
and  pardon  fall  to  the  memory  of  your  lost 

"CHARLOTTE." 


39 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

A  MAN   MAY   SMILE,  AND   SMILE   AND   BE 
A  VILLAIN 

WHILE  Charlotte  was  enjoying  some 
small  degree  of  comfort  in  the  consoling 
friendship  of  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  Montra- 
ville  was  advancing  rapidly  in  his  affec- 
tion toward  Miss  Franklin. 

Julia  was  an  amiable  girl;  she  saw 
only  the  fair  side  of  his  character;  she 
possessed  an  independent  fortune,  and 
resolved  to  be  happy  with  the  man  of 
her  heart,  tho  his  rank  and  fortune 
were  by  no  means  so  exalted  as  she  had  a 
right  to  expect;  she  saw  the  passion 
which  Montraville  struggled  to  conceal; 
she  wondered  at  his  timidity,  but  im- 
agined the  distance  fortune  had  placed 
between  them  occasioned  his  backward- 
ness, and  made  every  advance  ^which 
40 


H  Smflfns  Diilain 


strict  prudence  and  a  becoming  modesty 
could  permit.  Montraville  saw  with 
pleasure  he  [sic]  was  not  indifferent  to 
her  [sic]  ;  but  a  spark  of  honor  which 
animated  his  bosom  would  not  suffer 
him  to  take  advantage  of  her  partiality. 
He  was  well  acquainted  with  Charlotte's 
situation,  and  he  thought  there  would 
be  a  double  cruelty  in  forsaking  her  at 
such  a  time;  and  to  marry  Miss  Frank- 
lin, while  honor,  humanity,  every  sacred 
law,  obliged  him  still  to  protect  and 
support  Charlotte,  was  a  baseness  which 
his  soul  shuddered  at. 

He  communicated  his  uneasiness  to 
Belcour:  it  was  the  very  thing  his  pre- 
tended friend  had  wished.  "And  do  you 
really/'  said  he,  laughing,  "hesitate  at 
marrying  the  lovely  Julia,  and  becoming 
master  of  her  fortune,  because  a  little, 
foolish,  fond  girl,  chose  to  leave  her 
friends,  and  run  away  with  you  to 
America?  Dear  Montraville,  act  more 
like  a^man  of  sense:  this  whining,  pining 

41 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

Charlotte,  who  occasions  you  so  much 
uneasiness,  would  have  eloped  with  some- 
body else,  if  she  had  not  with  you." 

"Would  to  Heaven,"  said  Montra- 
ville,  "I  had  never  seen  her;  my  regard 
for  her  was  but  the  momentary  passion 
of  desire;  but  I  feel  I  shall  love  and 
revere  Julia  Franklin  as  long  as  I  live; 
yet  to  leave  poor  Charlotte  in  her  pres- 
ent situation,  would  be  cruel  beyond 
description." 

"Oh,  my  good,  sentimental  friend," 
said  Belcour,  "do  you  imagine  nobody 
has  a  right  to  provide  for  the  brat  but 
yourself  ?  " 

Montraville  started.  "Sure,"  said  he, 
"you  can  not  mean  to  insinuate  that 
Charlotte  is  false!" 

"I  don't  insinuate  it,"  said  Belcour; 
"I  know  it." 

Montraville  turned  pale  as  ashes. 
"Then  there  is  no  faith  in  woman,"  said 
he. 

"While  I  thought  you  were  attached 
42 


H  Smflins  ItWiafn 

to  her,"  said  Belcour,  with  an  air  of  in- 
difference, "I  never  wished  to  make  you 
uneasy  by  mentioning  her  perfidy;  but, 
as  I  know  you  love  and  are  beloved  by 
Miss  Franklin,  I  was  determined  not  to 
let  these  foolish  scruples  of  honor  step 
between  you  and  happiness,  or  your  ten- 
derness for  the  peace  of  a  perfidious  girl 
prevent  your  uniting  yourself  to  a  woman 
of  honor." 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  Montraville, 
"what  poignant  reflections  does  a  man 
endure  who  sees  a  lovely  woman  plunged 
in  infamy,  and  is  conscious  he  was  her 
first  seducer.  But  are  you  certain  of 
what  you  say,  Belcour?" 

"So  far,"  replied  he,  "that  I  myself 
have  received  advances  from  her,  which 
I  would  not  take  advantage  of  out  of  re- 
gard to  you.  But,  hang  it,  think  no 
more  about  her.  I  dined  at  Franklin's 
to-day,  and  Julia  bid  me  seek  and  bring 
you  to  tea:  so  come  along,  my  lad,  make 

43 


Cbatlotte  Uempie 

good  use  of  opportunity,  and  seize 
the  gifts  of  fortune  while  they  are  with- 
in your  reach." 

Montraville  was  too  much  agitated  to 
pass  a  happy  evening  even  in  the  com- 
pany of  Julia  Franklin.  He  determined 
to  visit  Charlotte  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, tax  her  with  her  falsehood,  and  take 
an  everlasting  leave  of  her;  but  when 
the  morning  came,  he  was  commanded 
on  duty,  and  for  six  weeks  was  prevented 
from  putting  his  design  into  execution. 
At  length  he  found  an  hour  to  spare, 
and  walked  out  to  spend  it  with  Char- 
lotte :  it  was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon when  he  arrived  at  her  cottage; 
she  was  not  in  the  parlor,  and  with- 
out calling  her  servant,  he  walked  up- 
stairs, thinking  to  find  her  in  her  bed- 
room. He  opened  the  door,  and  the 
first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  Char- 
lotte asleep  on  the  bed,  and  Belcour  by 
her  side. 

44 


H  Smiling  liWiain 

"  Death  and  distraction!"  said  he, 
stamping,  "this  is  too  much.  Rise,  vil- 
lain, and  defend  yourself ! "  Belcour 
sprang  from  the  bed.  The  noise  awoke 
Charlotte;  terrified  at  the  furious  appear- 
ance of  Montraville,  and  seeing  Belcour 
with  him  in  the  chamber,  she  caught  hold 
of  his  arm,  as  he  stood  by  the  bedside, 
and  eagerly  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

'  Treacherous,  infamous  girl ! "  said 
he,  "can  you  ask?  How  came  he  here?" 
pointing  to  Belcour. 

"As  Heaven  is  my  witness!"  replied 
she,  weeping,  "I  do  not  know.  I  have 
not  seen  him  for  these  three  weeks." 

"Then  you  confess  he  sometimes  visits 
you?" 

"  He  came  sometimes  by  your  desire." 

"  'Tis  false ;  I  never  desired  him  to 
come,  and  you  know  I  did  not;  but 
mark  me,  Charlotte,  from  this  instant 
our  connection  is  at  an  end.  Let  Bel- 
cour or  any  other  of  your  favored  lovers 

45 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

take  you  and  provide  for  you;  I  have 
done  with  you  forever!" 

He  was  then  going  to  leave  her;  but 
starting  wildly  from  the  bed,  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  pro- 
tested her  innocence,  and  intreated  him 
not  to  leave  her.  "Oh,  Montraville!" 
said  she,  "kill  me,  for  pity's  sake,  kill 
me,  but  do  not  doubt  my  fidelity.  Do  not 
leave  me  in  this  horrid  situation;  for 
the  sake  of  your  unborn  child,-  oh,  spurn 
not  the  wretched  mother  from  you!" 

"Charlotte,"  said  he,  with  a  firm 
voice,  "  I  shall  take  care  that  neither  you 
nor  your  child  want  anything  in  the 
approaching  painful  hour;  but  we  meet 
no  more."  He  then  endeavored  to  raise 
her  from  the  ground,  but  in  vain.  She 
clung  about  his  knees,  entreating  him  to 
believe  her  innocent,  and  conjuring  Bel- 
cour  to  clear  up  the  dreadful  mystery. 

Belcour  cast  on  Montraville  a  smile 
of  contempt:  it  irritated  him  almost  to 
46 


H  Smilfna  liWlafn 

madness;  he  broke  from  the  feeble  arms 
of  the  distressed  girl;  she  shrieked  and 
fell  prostrate  on  the  floor. 

Montraville    instantly    left    the    house, 
and  returned  hastily  to  the  city. 


47 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MYSTERY    DEVELOPED 

UNFORTUNATELY  for  Charlotte,  about 
three  weeks  before  this  unhappy  rencon- 
tre, Captain  Beauchamp,  being  ordered  to 
Rhode  Island,  his  lady  had  accompanied 
him,  so  that  Charlotte  was  deprived  of 
her  friendly  advice  and  consoling  society. 
The  afternoon  on  which  Montraville 
had  visited  her  she  had  found  herself 
languid  and  fatigued,  and  after  making 
a  very  slight  dinner,  had  lain  down  to 
endeavor  to  recruit  her  exhausted  spirits, 
and,  contrary  to  her  expectations,  had 
fallen  asleep.  She  had  not  long  been  laid 
down  when  Belcour  arrived,  for  he  took 
every  opportunity  of  visiting  her,  and 
striving  to  awaken  her  resentment  against 
Montraville.  He  enquired  of  the  servant 
where  her  mistress  was,  and  being  told 
48 


she  was  asleep,  took  up  a  book  to  amuse 
himself;  having  sat  a  few  minutes,  he 
by  chance  cast  his  eyes  towards  the  road, 
and  saw  Montraville  approaching;  he 
instantly  conceived  the  diabolical  scheme 
of  ruining  the  unhappy  Charlotte  in  his 
opinion  forever;  he  therefore  stole  softly 
up-stairs,  and  laying  himself  by  her  side 
with  the  greatest  precaution,  for  fear  she 
should  awake,  was  in  that  situation  dis- 
covered by  his  credulous  friend. 

When  Montraville  spurned  the  weep- 
ing Charlotte  from  him,  and  left  her  al- 
most distracted  with  terror  and  despair, 
Belcour  raised  her  from  the  floor,  and 
leading  her  down-stairs,  assumed  the  part 
of  a  tender,  consoling  friend;  she  listened 
to  the  arguments  he  advanced,  with  ap- 
parent composure;  but  this  was  only  the 
calm  of  the  moment:  the  remembrance  of 
Montraville's  recent  cruelty  again  rushed 
upon  her  mind :  she  pushed  him  from  her 
with  some  violence,  crying — "Leave  me, 
sir,  I  beseech  you;  leave  me,  for  much  I 

49 


dbarlotte  Uemple 

fear  you  have  been  the  cause  of  my  fidel- 
ity being  suspected;  go,  leave  me  to  the 
accumulated  miseries  my  own  imprudence 
has  brought  upon  me." 

She  then  left  him  with  precipitation, 
and  retiring  to  her  own  apartments, 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  gave  vent 
to  an  agony  of  grief  which  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  describe. 

It  now  occurred  to  Belcour  that  she 
might  possibly  write  to  Montraville,  and 
endeavor  to  convince  him  of  her  inno- 
cence: he  was  well  aware  of  her  pa- 
thetic remonstrances,  and  sensible  of  the 
tenderness  of  Montraville's  heart,  re- 
solved to  prevent  any  letters  ever  reach- 
ing him :  he  therefore  called  the  servant, 
and  by  the  powerful  persuasion  of  a 
bribe,  prevailed  with  her  to  promise 
whatever  letters  her  mistress  might  write 
should  be  sent  to  him.  He  then  left  a 
polite,  tender  note  for  Charlotte,  and  re- 
turned to  New  York.  His  first  business 
was  to  seek  Montraville,  and  endeavor  to 

50 


Developefc 


convince  him  that  what  had  happened 
would  ultimately  tend  to  his  happiness; 
he  found  him  in  his  apartment,  solitary, 
pensive  and  wrapped  in  disagreeable  re- 
flections. 

"Why,  how  now,  whining,  pining 
lover?"  said  he,  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder.  Montraville  started;  a  momen- 
tary flush  of  resentment  crossed  his  cheek, 
but  instantly  gave  place  to  a  death-like 
paleness,  occasioned  by  painful  remem- 
brance— remembrance  awakened  by  that 
monitor,  whom,  tho  we  may  in  vain 
endeavor,  we  can  never  entirely  silence. 

"Belcour,"  said  he,  "you  have  in- 
jured me  in  a  tender  point/' 

"Prithee,  Jack/'1  replied  Belcour,  "do 
not  make  a  serious  matter  of  it:  how 
could  I  refuse  the  girl's  advances?  and 
thank  Heaven  she  is  not  your  wife." 

"True,"    said   Montraville;    "but    she 


1  It  will  be  observed  here  that  Mrs.  Rowson  gives  to 
Montraville  the  same  Christian  name  that  was  borne  by 
Montresor. 

51 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

was  innoceent  when  I  first  knew  her.  It 
was  I  seduced  her,  Belcour.  Had  it  not 
been  for  me,  she  had  still  been  virtuous 
and  happy  in  the  affection  and  protection 
of  her  family ." 

"  Pshaw/'  replied  Belcour,  laughing, 
"if  you  had  not  taken  advantage  of  her 
easy  nature,  some  other  would,  and  where 
is  the  difference,  pray?" 

"I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her,"  cried 
he,  passionately,  and  starting  from  his 
seat.  "  Oh,  that  cursed  French  woman ! " 
added  he  with  vehemence,  "had  it  not 
been  for  her  I  might  have  been  happy — " 
He  paused. 

"With  Julia  Franklin,"  said  Belcour. 
The  name,  like  a  sudden  spark  of  elec- 
tric fire,  seemed  for  a  moment  to  sus- 
pend his  faculties — for  a  moment  he  was 
transfixed;  but  recovering,  he  caught 
Belcour's  hand,  and  cried — "Stop!  stop! 
I  beseech  you,  name  not  the  lovely  Julia 
and  the  wretched  Montraville  in  the  same 
breath.  I  am  a  seducer,  a  mean,  ungener- 

52 


ous  seducer  of  unsuspecting  innocence. 
I  dare  not  hope  that  purity  like  hers 
would  stoop  to  unite  itself  with  black, 
premeditated  guilt:  yet,  by  heavens!  I 
swear,  Belcour,  I  thought  I  loved  the  lost 
abandoned  Charlotte  till  I  saw  Julia — I 
thought  I  never  could  forsake  her;  but 
the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  I  now  can 
plainly  discriminate  between  the  impulse 
of  a  youthful  passion,  and  the  pure  flame 
of  disinterested  affection/' 

At  that  instant  Julia  Franklin  passed 
the  window,  leaning  on  her  uncle's  arm. 
She  courtesied  as  she  passed,  and  with 
the  bewitching  smile  of  modest  cheerful- 
ness, cried—  "  Do  you  bury  yourselves  in 
the  house  this  fine  evening,  gents?" 
There  was  something  in  the  voice!  the 
manner !  the  look !  that  was  altogether  ir- 
resistible. "  Perhaps  she  wishes  my  com- 
pany/' said  Montraville,  mentally,  as  he 
snatched  up  his  hat :  "if  I  thought  she 
loved  me,  I  would  confess  my  errors,  and 
trust  to  her  generosity  to  pity  and  pardon 

53 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

me."  He  soon  overtook  her,  and  offering 
her  his  arm,  they  sauntered  to  pleasant, 
but  unfrequented  walks.  Belcour  drew 
Mr.  Franklin  on  one  side,  and  entered 
into  a  political  discourse;  they  walked 
faster  than  the  young  people,  and  Bel- 
cour, by  some  means,  contrived  entirely 
to  lose  sight  of  them.  It  was  a  fine  eve- 
ning in  the  beginning  of  autumn;  the 
last  remains  of  daylight  faintly  streaked 
the  western  sky,  while  the  moon  with  pale 
and  virgin  luster  in  the  room  of  gor- 
geous gold  and  purple,  ornamented  the 
canopy  of  heaven  with  silver,  fleecy 
clouds,  which  now  and  then  half  hid  her 
lovely  face,  and,  by  partly  concealing, 
heightened  every  beauty;  the  zephyrs 
whispered  softly  through  the  trees,  which 
now  began  to  shed  their  leafy  honors; 
a  solemn  silence  reigned:  and,  to  a  hap- 
py mind,  an  evening  such  as  this  would 
give  serenity,  and  calm,  unruffled  pleas- 
ure: but  to  Montraville,  while  it  soothed 
the  turbulence  of  his  passions,  it  brought 

54 


increase  of  melancholy  reflections.  Julia 
was  leaning  on  his  arm:  he  took  her 
hand  in  his,  and  pressing  it  tenderly, 
sighed  deeply,  but  continued  silent.  Julia 
was  embarrassed:  she  wished  to  break 
a  silence  so  unaccountable,  but  was  un- 
able; she  loved  Montraville;  she  saw  he 
was  unhappy,  and  wished  to  know  the 
cause  of  his  uneasiness,  but  that  innate 
modesty  which  nature  has  implanted  in 
the  female  breast,  prevented  her  inquir- 
ing. "  I  am  bad  company,  Miss  Frank- 
lin," said  he,  at  last  recollecting  himself; 
"but  I  have  met  with  something  to-day 
that  has  greatly  distressed  me,  and  I  can 
not  shake  off  the  disagreeable  impression 
it  has  made  on  my  mind." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  replied,  "  that  you 
have  any  cause  of  inquietude.  I  am  sure 
if  you  were  as  happy  as  you  deserve,  and 

as  all  your  friends  wish  you "     She 

hesitated.  "And  might  I,"  replied  he, 
with  some  animation,  "presume  to  rank 
the  amiable  Julia  in  that  number?" 

55 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

"Certainly/5  said  she,  "the  service 
you  have  rendered  me,  the  knowledge  of 
your  worth,  all  combine  to  make  me  es- 
teem you." 

"Esteem,  my  lovely  Julia,"  said  he, 
passionately,  "is  but  a  poor,  cold  word. 
I  would  if  I  dared — if  I  thought  I  merited 
your  attention — but  no,  I  must  not — 
honor  forbids.  I  am  beneath  your  notice, 
Julia,  I  am  miserable  and  can  not  hope 
to  be  otherwise." 

"Alas!"  said  Julia,  "I  pity  you." 

"Oh,  thou  condescending  charmer," 
said  he,  "how  that  sweet  word  cheers  my 
sad  heart.  Indeed,  if  you  knew  all,  you 
would  pity;  but  at  the  same  time,  I  fear 
you  would  despise  me." 

Just  then  they  were  again  joined  by 
Mr.  Franklin  and  Belcour.  It  had  inter- 
rupted an  interesting  discourse.  They 
found  it  impossible  to  converse  on  indif- 
ferent subjects,  and  proceeded  home  in  si- 
lence. At  Mr.  Franklin's  door,  Montra- 
ville  again  pressed  Julia's  hand,  and, 

56 


Bex>eiopefc 


faintly  articulating  "good-night/'  retired 
to  his  lodgings,  dispirited  and  wretched, 
from  a  consciousness  that  he  deserved 
not  the  affection  with  which  he  plainly 
saw  he  was  honored. 


57 


CHAPTER  XXV 

RECEPTION  OF  A  LETTER 

"AND  where  now  is  our  poor  Char- 
lotte?" said  Mr.  Temple,  one  evening, 
as  the  cold  blasts  of  autumn  whistled 
rudely  over  the  heath,  and  the  yellow 
appearance  of  the  distant  wood,  spoke 
the  near  approach  of  winter.  In  vain 
the  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth, 
in  vain  was  he  surrounded  by  all  the 
comforts  of  life;  the  parent  was  still 
alive  in  his  heart,  and  when  he  thought 
that  perhaps  his  once  darling  child  was 
ere  this  exposed  to  all  the  miseries  of 
want  in  a  distant  land,  without  a  friend 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  without  the 
benignant  look  of  compassion  to  cheer, 
or  the  angelic  voice  of  pity  to  pour  the 
balm  of  consolation  on  her  wounded 
heart;  when  he  thought  of  this,  his 
whole  soul  dissolved  in  tenderness,  and 

58 


H  Xetter 

while  he  wiped  the  tear  of  anguish  from 
the  eye  of  his  patient,  uncomplaining 
Lucy,  he  struggled  to  suppress  the  sym- 
pathizing drop  that  started  in  his  own. 
"Oh!  my  poor  girl!"  said  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, "how  must  she  be  altered,  else  sure- 
ly she  would  have  relieved  our  agoniz- 
ing minds  by  one  line  to  say  she  lived — 
to  say  she  had  not  quite  forgot  the  par- 
ents who  almost  idolized  her." 

"  Gracious  Heaven ! "  said  Mr.  Tem- 
ple, starting  from  his  seat,  "who  would 
wish  to  be  a  father  to  experience  the 
agonizing  pangs  inflicted  on  a  parent's 
heart  by  the  ingratitude  of  a  child?" 
Mrs.  Temple  wept:  her  father  took  her 
hand.  He  would  have  said:  "Be  com- 
forted, my  child!"  but  the  words  died 
on  his  tongue.  The  sad  silence  that 
ensued  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  rap  at 
the  door.  In  a  moment  a  servant  en- 
tered with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Temple  took  it  from  him:  she 
cast  her  eyes  upon  the  superscription; 

59 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

she  knew  the  writing.  "  Tis  Char 
lotte,"  said  she,  eagerly  breaking  the 
seal,  "she  has  not  quite  forgot  us."  But 
before  she  had  half  gone  through  the 
contents,  a  sudden  sickness  seized  her; 
she  grew  cold  and  giddy,  and  putting  it 
into  her  husband's  hands,  she  cried — 
"Read  it:  I  can  not."  Mr.  Temple  at- 
tempted to  read  it  aloud,  but  frequently 
paused  to  give  vent  to  his  tears.  "My 
poor,  deluded  child!"  said  he,  when  he 
had  finished. 

"Oh,  shall  we  not  forgive  the  dear 
penitent?"  said  Mrs.  Temple.  "We 
must,  we  will,  my  love;  she  is  willing  to 
return,  and  'tis  our  duty  to  receive  her." 

"Father  of  mercy,"  said  Mr.  El- 
dridge,  raising  his  clasped  hands,  "let 
me  but  live  once  more  to  see  the  dear 
wanderer  restored  to  her  afflicted  par- 
ents, and  take  me  from  this  world  of  sor- 
row whenever  it  seemeth  best  to  Thy 
wisdom." 

"Yes,  we  will  receive  her,"  said  Mr. 
60 


H  OLetter 

Temple;  "we  will  endeavor  to  heal  her 
wounded  spirit,  and  speak  peace  and 
comfort  to  her  agitated  soul.  I  will 
write  to  her  to  return  immediately." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Temple.  "I  would, 
if  possible,  fly  to  her,  support  and  cheer 
the  dear  sufferer  in  the  approaching 
hour  of  distress,  and  tell  her  how  nearly 
penitence  is  allied  to  virtue.  Can  not 
we  go  and  conduct  her  home,  my  love?" 
continued  she,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "My  father  will  surely  forgive 
our  absence  if  we  go  to  bring  home  his 
darling." 

"You  can  not  go,  my  Lucy,"  said  Mr. 
Temple:  "the  delicacy  of  your  frame 
would  but  poorly  sustain  the  fatigue  of 
a  long  voyage;  but  I  will  go  and  bring 
the  gentle  penitent  to  your  arms:  we 
may  still  see  many  years  of  happiness." 

The    struggle   in   the   bosom   of   Mrs. 

Temple  between  maternal  and  conjugal 

tenderness    was    long   and    painful.      At 

length   the   former   triumphed,    and   she 

61 


Cbariotte  Uempie 

consented  that  her  husband  should  set 
forward  to  New  York  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity: she  wrote  to  her  Charlotte  in 
the  tenderest,  most  consoling  manner, 
and  looked  forward  to  the  happy  hour 
when  she  would  again  embrace  her  with 
the  most  animated  hope. 


62 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

WHAT    MIGHT    BE    EXPECTED 

IN  the  meantime  the  passion  Montra- 
ville  had  conceived  for  Julia  Franklin 
daily  increased,  and  he  saw  evidently 
how  much  he  was  beloved  by  that 
amiable  girl:  he  was  likewise  strongly 
prepossessed  with  an  idea  of  Charlotte's 
perfidy.  What  wonder,  then,  if  he  gave 
himself  up  to  the  delightful  sensation 
which  pervaded  his  bosom;  and  finding 
no  obstacle  arise  to  oppose  his  happiness, 
he  solicited  and  obtained  the  hand  of 
Julia.  A  few  days  before  his  marriage, 
he  thus  addressed  Belcour: 

"Tho  Charlotte,  by  her  abandoned 
conduct,  has  thrown  herself  from  my 
protection,  I  still  hold  myself  bound  to 
support  her  till  relieved  from  her  pres- 
ent condition,  and  also  to  provide  for 

63 


Cbariotte  Uempie 

the  child.  I  do  not  intend  to  see  her 
again,  but  I  will  place  a  sum  of  money 
in  your  hands  which  will  amply  supply 
her  with  every  convenience;  but  should 
she  require  more,  let  her  have  it,  and 
I  will  see  it  repaid.  I  wish  I  could  pre- 
vail on  the  poor,  deluded  girl  to  return 
to  her  friends;  she  was  an  only  child, 
and  I  make  no  doubt  but  that  they  would 
joyfully  receive  her;  it  would  shock  me 
greatly  to  see  her  henceforth  leading  a 
life  of  infamy,  as  I  should  always  accuse 
myself  as  being  the  primary  cause  of  all 
her  errors.  If  she  should  choose  to  re- 
main under  your  protection,  be  kind  to 
her,  Belcour,  I  conjure  you.  Let  not 
satiety  prompt  you  to  treat  her  in  such  a 
manner  as  may  drive  her  to  actions  which 
necessity  might  urge  her  to,  while  her 
better  reason  disapproves  them:  she 
shall  never  want  a  friend  while  I  live, 
but  I  never  more  desire  to  behold  her: 
her  presence  would  be  always  painful  to 
me,  and  a  glance  from  her  eye  would 

64 


TTbe  Eipectefc 

call  the  blush  of  conscious  guilt  into  my 
cheek. 

"I  will  write  a  letter  to  her,  which 
you  may  deliver  when  I  am  gone,  as  I 
shall  go  to  St.  Eustatia  the  day  after  my 
union  with  Julia,  who  will  accompany 


me." 


Belcour  promised  to  fulfil  the  request 
of  his  friend,  tho  nothing  was  further 
from  his  intentions  than  the  least  de- 
sign of  delivering  the  letter,  or  making 
Charlotte  acquainted  with  the  provision 
Montraville  had  made  for  her.  He  was 
bent  on  the  complete  ruin  of  the  unhappy 
girl,  and  supposed,  by  reducing  her  to 
an  entire  dependence  upon  him,  to  bring 
her  by  degrees  to  consent  to  gratify  his 
ungenerous  passion. 

The  evening  before  the  day  appointed 
for  the  nuptials  of  Montraville  and  Ju- 
lia, the  former  retired  early  to  his  apart- 
ment, and,  ruminating  on  the  past  scenes 
of  his  life,  suffered  the  keenest  remorse 
in  the  remembrance  of  Charlotte's  seduc- 

65 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

tion.  "Poor  girl,"  said  he,  "I  will  at 
least  write  and  bid  her  adieu;  I  will,  too, 
endeavor  to  awaken  that  love  of  virtue  in 
her  bosom  which  her  unfortunate  at- 
tachment to  me  has  extinguished."  He 
took  up  the  pen  and  began  to  write,  but 
words  were  denied  him.  How  could  he 
address  the  woman  whom  he  had  se- 
duced, and  whom,  tho  he  thought  un- 
worthy his  tenderness,  he  was  about  to 
bid  adieu  forever?  How  should  he  tell 
her  that  he  was  going  to  abjure  her,  to 
enter  into  the  most  indissoluble  ties  with 
another,  and  that  he  could  not  even  own 
the  infant  which  she  bore  as  his  child  ? 
Several  letters  were  begun  and  destroyed : 
at  length  he  completed  the  following: 

"  To  CHARLOTTE. 

"  Tho  I  have  taken  up  my  pen  to  address 
you,  my  poor,  injured  girl,  I  feel  I  am  inade- 
quate to  the  task;  yet,  however  painful  the 
endeavor,  I  could  not  resolve  upon  leaving  you 
forever  without  one  kind  line  to  bid  you  adieu 
— to  tell  you  how  my  heart  bleeds  at  the  re- 

66 


membrance  of  what  you  was  [sic]  before  you 
saw  the  hated  Montraville.  Even  now  imagi- 
nation paints  the  scene,  when  torn  by  contend- 
ing passions,  when  struggling  between  love 
and  duty,  you  fainted  in  my  arms  and  I  lifted 
you  into  the  chaise :  I  see  the  agony  of  your 
mind,  when,  recovering,  you  found  yourself 
on  the  road  to  Portsmouth :  but  how,  my  gen- 
tle girl,  how  could  you,  when  so  justly  im- 
pressed with  the  value  of  virtue,  how  could 
you,  when  loving  as  I  thought  you  loved  me, 
yield  to  the  solicitation  of  Belcour? 

"  Oh,  Charlotte,  conscience  tells  me  it  was 
I,  villain  that  I  am,  who  first  taught  you  the 
allurements  of  guilty  pleasure;  it  was  I  who 
dragged  you  from  the  calm  repose  which  inno- 
cence and  virtue  ever  enjoy;  and  can  I,  dare  I 
tell  you  it  was  not  love  prompted  to  the  horrid 
deed?  No,  thou  dear,  fallen  angel;  believe 
your  repentant  Montraville  when  he  tells  you 
that  the  man  who  truly  loves  will  never  be- 
tray the  object  of  his  affection.  Adieu,  Char- 
lotte :  could  you  still  find  charms  in  a  life  of 
unoffending  innocence,  return  to  your  parents ; 
you  shall  never  want  the  means  of  support 
both  for  yourself  and  child.  Oh !  gracious 
Heaven !  may  that  child  be  entirely  free  from 

67 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

the  vices  of  its  father  and  the  weakness  of  its 
mother. 

"  To-morrow — but  no,  I  can  not  tell  you 
what  to-morrow  will  produce ;  Belcour  will  in- 
form you :  he  also  has  cash  for  you,  which  I 
beg  you  will  ask  for  whenever  you  may  want 
it.  Once  more,  adieu;  believe  me,  could  I 
hear  you  was  returned  to  your  friends,  and 
enjoying  that  tranquility  of  which  I  have 
robbed  you,  I  should  be  as  completely  happy 
as  even  you,  in  your  fondest  hours,  could  wish 
me.  But  till  then  a  gloom  will  obscure  the 
brightest  prospects  of 

"  MONTRAVILLE." 

After  he  had  sealed  this  letter  he 
threw  himself  on  the  b$d  and  enjoyed  a 
few  hours'  repose.  Early  in  the  morning 
Belcour  tapped  at  his  door:  he  arose 
hastily,  and  prepared  to  meet  his  Julia 
at  the  altar. 

"This  is  the  letter  to  Charlotte,"  said 
he,  giving  it  to  Belcour:  "take  it  to  her 
when  we  are  gone  to  Eustatia;1  and  I 


1  So  printed,  instead  of  St.  Eustatia,  as  on  a  previous 
page. 

68 


TTbe  JErpecteo 

conjure  you,  my  dear  friend,  not  to  use 
any  sophilastic  arguments  to  prevent  her 
return  to  virtue;  but  should  she  incline 
that  way,  encourage  her  in  the  thought 
and  assist  her  to  put  her  design  in  exe- 
cution:" 


69 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Pensive  she  mourn'd,  and  hung  her  languid  head, 
Like  a  fair  lily  overcharg'd  with  dew. 

CHARLOTTE  had  now  been  left  almost 
three  months  a  prey  to  her  own  melan- 
choly reflections — sad  companions,  in- 
deed; nor  did  any  one  break  in  upon  her 
solitude  but  Belcour,  who  once-  or  twice 
called  to  inquire  after  her  health,  and 
tell  her  he  had  in  vain  endeavored  to 
bring  Montraville  to  hear  reason;  and 
once,  but  only  once,  was  her  mind 
cheered  by  the  receipt  of  an  affectionate 
letter  from  Mrs.  Beauchamp.  Often  had 
she  wrote  to  her  perfidious  seducer,  and 
with  the  most  persuasive  eloquence  en- 
deavored to  convince  him  of  her  inno- 
cence; but  these  letters  were  never  suf- 
fered to  reach  the  hands  of  Montraville, 
or  they  must,  tho  on  the  very  eve  of  mar- 
riage, have  prevented  his  deserting  the 
wretched  girl.  Real  anguish  of  heart 
70 


Xifee  a  ffair 


had  in  a  great  measure  faded  her  charms  ; 
her  cheeks  were  pale  from  want  of  rest, 
and  her  eyes,  by  frequent,  indeed,  almost 
continued  weeping,  were  sunk  and  heavy. 
Sometimes  a  gleam  of  hope  would  play 
about  her  heart  when  she  thought  of  her 
parents.  "They  can  not,  surely,"  she 
would  say,  "refuse  to  forgive  me;  or 
should  they  deny  their  pardon  to  me, 
they  will  not  hate  my  innocent  infant  on 
account  of  its  mother's  errors."  How 
often  did  the  poor  mourner  wish  for  the 
consoling  presence  of  the  benevolent 
Mrs.  Beauchamp.  "If  she  were  here," 
she  would  cry,  "  ahe  would  certainly  com- 
fort me,  and  soothe  the  distraction  of  my 
soul." 

She  was  sitting  one  afternoon,  wrapped 
in  these  melancholy  reflections,  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Bel- 
cour.  Great  as  the  alteration  was  which 
incessant  sorrow  had  made  on  her  person, 
she  was  still  interesting,  still  charming; 
and  the  unhallowed  flame,  which  had 


Gbarlotte  Uemplc 

urged  Belcour  to  plant  dissension  be- 
tween her  and  Montraville,  still  raged 
in  his  bosom:  he  was  determined,  if  pos- 
sible, to  make  her  his  mistress;  nay,  he 
had  even  conceived  the  diabolical  scheme 
of  taking  her  to  New  York,  and  making 
her  appear  in  every  public  place  where 
it  was  likely  she  should  meet  Montraville, 
that  he  might  be  a  witness  to  his  un- 
manly triumph. 

When  he  entered  the  room  where 
Charlotte  was  sitting,  he  assumed  the 
look  of  tender  consolatory  friendship. 
"And  how  does  my  lovely  Charlotte?" 
said  he,  taking  her  hand:  "I  fear  you 
are  not  so  well  as  I  could  wish." 

"I  am  not  well,  Mr.  Belcour,"  said 
she,  "very  far  from  it;  but  the  pains  and 
infirmities  of  the  body  I  could  easily 
bear,  nay,  submit  to  them  with  patience, 
were  they  not  aggravated  by  the  most 
insupportable  anguish  of  my  mind." 

"You  are  not  happy,  Charlotte?"  said 
he,  with  a  look  of  well-dissembled  sorrow. 
72 


%ifce  a  jfafr 


"Alas!"  replied  she,  mournfully  shak- 
ing her  head,  "how  can  I  be  happy,  de- 
serted and  forsaken  as  I  am,  without  a 
friend  of  my  own  sex  to  whom  I  can  un- 
burthen  my  full  heart;  nay,  my  fidelity 
suspected  by  the  very  man  for  whom  I 
have  sacrificed  everything  valuable  in 
life,  for  whom  I  have  made  myself  a 
poor,  despised  creature,  an  outcast  from 
society,  an  object  only  of  contempt  and 
pity?" 

"You  think  too  meanly  of  yourself, 
Miss  Temple:  there  is  no  one  who  would 
dare  to  treat  you  with  contempt:  all 
who  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you, 
must  admire  and  esteem.  You  are  lone- 
ly here,  my  dear  girl;  give  me  leave 
to  conduct  you  to  New  York,  where  the 
agreeable  society  of  some  ladies  to  whom 
I  will  introduce  you  will  dispel  these  sad 
thoughts,  and  I  shall  again  see  return- 
ing cheerfulness  animate  those  lovely 
features." 

"Oh,     never!     never!"     cried     Char- 

73 


Cbarlotte  TTemple 

lotte,  emphatically:  "the  virtuous  part  of 
my  sex  will  scorn  me,  and  I  will  never 
associate  with  infamy.  No,  Belcour, 
here  let  me  hide  my  shame  and  sorrow; 
here  let  me  spend  my  few  remaining 
days  in  obscurity,  unknown  and  unpitied; 
here  let  me  die  unlamented,  and  my  name 
sink  to  oblivion."  Here  her  tears  stopped 
her  utterance.  Belcour  was  awed  to 
silence:  he  dared  not  interrupt  her:  and 
after  a  moment's  pause  she  proceeded — 
"  I  once  had  conceived  the  thought  of 
going  to  New  York  to  seek  out  the  still 
dear,  tho  cruel,  ungenerous  Montraville, 
to  throw  myself  at  his  feet  and  entreat 
his  compassion;  Heaven  knows,  not  for 
myself;  if  I  am  no  longer  beloved,  I  will 
not  be  indebted  to  his  pity  to  redress 
my  injuries,  but  I  would  have  knelt  and 
entreated  him  not  to  forsake  my  poor 

unborn "      She   could  say  no  more; 

a  crimson  glow  rushed  over  her  cheeks, 
and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
she  sobbed  aloud. 

74 


Xffee  a  ffait 


Something  like  humanity  was  awak- 
ened in  Belcour's  breast  by  this  pathetic 
speech.  He  arose  and  walked  toward 
the  window,  but  the  selfish  passion 
which  had  taken  possession  of  his  heart 
soon  stifled  these  finer  emotions;  and  he 
thought  if  Charlotte  was  once  convinced 
she  had  no  longer  any  dependence  on 
Montraville,  she  would  more  readily  throw 
herself  on  his  protection.  Determined, 
therefore,  to  inform  her  of  all  that  had 
happened,  he  again  resumed  his  seat; 
and,  finding  she  began  to  be  more  com- 
posed, inquired  if  she  had  ever  heard 
from  Montraville  since  the  unfortunate 
rencontre  in  her  bedchamber. 

"Ah,  no!"  said  she,  "I  fear  I  shall 
never  hear  from  him  again/' 

"  I  am  greatly  of  your  opinion/'  said 
Belcour,  "  for  he  has  been,  for  some 
time  past,  greatly  attached  -  " 

At  the  word  "attached,"  a  death-like 
paleness  overspread  the  countenance  of 
Charlotte,  but  she  applied  to  some  harts- 

75 


Gbarlotte  Uemplc 

horn  which  stood  beside  her,  and  Bel- 
cour  proceeded: 

"He  has  been  for  some  time  past 
greatly  attached  to  one  Miss  Franklin, 
a  pleasing,  lively  girl,  with  a  large  for- 
tune." 

"  She  may  be  richer,  may  be  hand- 
somer/' cried  Charlotte,  "but  can  not 
love  him  so  well.  Oh!  may  she  beware 
of  his  art,  and  not  trust  him  too  far,  as 
I  have  done/' 

"He  addresses  her  publicly,"  said  he, 
"and  it  was  rumored  they  were  to  be 
married  before  he  sailed  for  Eustatia, 
whither  his  company  is  ordered." 

"Belcour,"  said  Charlotte,  seizing  his 
hand,  and  gazing  at  him  earnestly, 
while  her  pale  lips  trembled  with  con- 
vulsive agony.  "Tell  me,  and  tell 
me  truly,  I  beseech  you,  do  you  think 
he  can  be  such  a  villain  as  to  marry  an- 
other woman,  and  leave  me  to  die  with 
want  and  misery  in  a  strange  land? 
Tell  me  what  you  think;  I  can  bear  it 
76 


%ifee  a  ffair 


very  well;  I  will  not  shrink  from  this 
heaviest  stroke  of  fate;  I  have  deserved 
my  afflictions,  and  I  will  endeavor  to 
bear  them  as  I  ought." 

"I  fear,"  said  Belcour,  "he  can  be 
that  villain." 

"Perhaps,"  cried  she,  eagerly,  inter- 
rupting him,  "perhaps  he  is  married  al- 
ready: come,  let  me  know  the  worst," 
continued  she,  with  an  affected  look  of 
composure:  "you  need  not  be  afraid;  I 
shall  not  send  the  fortunate  lady  a  bowl 
of  poison!" 

"Well,  then,  my  dear  girl,"  said  he, 
deceived  by  her  appearance,  "they  were 
married  on  Thursday,  and  yesterday 
morning  they  sailed  for  Eustatia." 

"  Married  —  gone  —  say  you  ?  "  cried 
she,  in  distracted  accents;  "what,  with- 
out a  last  farewell,  without  one  thought 
on  my  unhappy  situation!  Oh,  Montra- 
ville!  may  God  forgive  your  perfidy!" 
She  shrieked,  and  Belcour  sprang  for- 
ward just  in  time  to  prevent  her  falling 

77 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

to  the  floor.  Alarming  faintings  now 
succeeded  each  other  and  she  was  con- 
veyed to  her  bed,  from  whence  she  ear- 
nestly prayed  she  might  never  more  arise. 
Belcour  stayed  with  her  that  night,  and 
in  the  morning  found  her  in  a  high  fever. 
The  fits  she  had  been  seized  with  had 
greatly  terrified  him;  and  confined  as 
she  now  was  to  a  bed  of  sickness,  she 
was  no  longer  an  object  of  desire:  it  is 
true,  for  several  days  he  went  constantly 
to  see  her,  but  her  pale,  emaciated  ap- 
pearance disgusted  him:  his  visits  be- 
came less  frequent;  he  forgot  the  solemn 
charge  given  him  by  Montraville;  he 
even  forgot  the  money  entrusted  to  his 
care;  and  the  burning  blush  of  indigna- 
tion and  shame  tinges  my  cheek  while 
I  write  it,  this  disgrace  to  humanity  and 
manhood  at  length  forgot  even  the  in- 
jured Charlotte;  and,  attracted  by  the 
blooming  health  of  a  farmer's  daughter, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  his  frequent  ex- 
cursions to  the  country,  he  left  the  un- 

78 


Xffce  a  ffair 


happy  girl  to  sink  unnoticed  to  the 
grave,  a  prey  to  sickness,  grief  and 
penury;  while  he,  having  triumphed 
over  the  virtue  of  the  artless  cottager, 
rioted  in  all  the  intemperance  of  luxury 
and  lawless  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A    TRIFLING    RETROSPECT  1 

"BLESS  my  heart!"  cries  my  young, 
volatile  reader,  "I  shall  never  have  pa- 
tience to  get  through  these  volumes,  there 
are  so  many  ahs !  and  ohs !  so  much  faint- 
ing, tears  and  distress,  I  am  sick  to 
death  of  the  subject/'  My  dear,  cheer- 
ful, innocent  girl,  for  innocent  I  will  sup- 
pose you  to  be,  or  you  would  acutely 
feel  the  woes  of  Charlotte,  did  con- 
science say,  thus  might  it  have  been  with 
me,  had  not  Providence  interposed  to 
snatch  me  from  destruction:  therefore, 
my  lively,  innocent  girl,  I  must  request 
your  patience;  I  am  writing  a  tale  of 
truth:  I  mean  to  write  it  to  the  heart: 
but,  if  perchance  the  heart  is  rendered 
impenetrable  by  unbounded  prosperity, 

1  Heading  omitted  from  late  editions. 
80 


H  IRetrospect 

or  a  continuance  in  vice,  I  expect  not 
my  tale  to  please,  nay,  I  even  expect  it 
will  be  thrown  by  with  disgust.  But 
softly,  gentle  fair  one ;  I  pray  you  throw  it 
not  aside  till  you  have  perused  the  whole ; 
mayhap  you  may  find  something  therein 
to  repay  you  for  the  trouble.  Methinks 
I  see  a  sarcastic  smile  sit  on  your  coun- 
tenance— "And  what,"  cry  you,  "does 
the  conceited  author  suppose  we  can 
glean  from  these  pages,  if  Charlotte  is 
held  up  as  an  object  of  terror,  to  prevent 
us  from  falling  into  guilty  errors?  Does 
not  La  Rue  triumph  in  her  shame,  and, 
by  adding  art  to  guilt,  obtain  the  affection 
of  a  worthy  man  and  rise  to  a  station 
where  she  is  beheld  with  respect,  and 
cheerfully  received  into  all  companies. 
What,  then,  is  the  moral  you  would  in- 
culcate? Would  you  wish  us  to  think 
that  a  deviation  from  virtue,  if  covered 
by  art  and  hypocrisy,  is  not  an  object  of 
detestation,  but  on  the  contrary,  shall 
raise  us  to  fame  and  honor?  while  the 
81 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

hapless  girl  who  falls  a  victim  to  her  too 
great  sensibility,  shall  be  loaded  with 
ignominy  and  shame?"  No,  my  fair 
querist,  I  mean  no  such  thing.  Remem- 
ber the  endeavors  of  the  wicked  are  often 
suffered  to  prosper,  that  in  the  end  their 
fall  may  be  attended  with  more  bitterness 
of  heart,  while  the  cup  of  affliction  is 
poured  out  for  wise  and  salutary  ends, 
and  they  who  are  compelled  to  drain  it 
even  to  the  bitter  dregs,  often  find  com- 
fort at  the  bottom;  the  tear  of  penitence 
blots  their  offences  from  the  book  of 
fate,  and  they  rise  from  the  heavy,  pain- 
ful trial,  purified  and  fit  for  a  mansion 
in  the  kingdom  of  eternity. 

Yes,  my  young  friends,  the  tear  of 
compassion  shall  fall  for  the  fate  of 
Charlotte,  while  the  name  of  La  Rue 
shall  be  detested  and  despised.  For 
Charlotte  the  soul  melts  with  sympathy; 
for  La  Rue  it  feels  nothing  but  horror 
and  contempt.  But  perhaps  your  gay 
hearts  would  rather  follow  the  fortunate 
82 


H  1Retro0pect 

Mrs.  Crayton  through  the  scenes  of  pleas- 
ure and  dissipation  in  which  she  was  en- 
gaged than  listen  to  the  complaints  and 
miseries  of  Charlotte.  I  will  for  once 
oblige  you;  I  will  for  once  follow  her  to 
midnight  revels,  balls  and  scenes  of  gay- 
ety,  for  in  such  was  she  constantly  en- 
gaged. 

I  have  said  her  person  was  lovely;  let 
us  add  that  she  was  surrounded  by  splen- 
dor and  affluence,  and  he  must  know  but 
little  of  the  world  who  can  wonder  (how- 
ever faulty  such  a  woman's  conduct)  at 
her  being  followed  by  the  men  and  her 
company  courted  by  the  women:  in 
short,  Mrs.  Crayton  was  the  universal 
favorite;  she  set  the  fashions;  she  was 
toasted  by  all  the  gentlemen,  and  copied 
by  all  the  ladies. 

Colonel  Crayton  was  a  domestic  man. 
Could  he  be  happy  with  such  a  woman? 
impossible!  Remonstrance  was  vain:  he 
might  as  well  have  preached  to  the  winds 
as  endeavor  to  persuade  her  from  any 

83 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

action,  however  ridiculous,  on  which  she 
had  set  her  mind:  in  short,  after  a  little 
ineffectual  struggle,  he  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt and  left  her  to  follow  the  bent  of 
her  own  inclinations:  what  those  were, 
I  think  the  reader  must  have  seen  enough 
of  her  character  to  form  a  just  idea. 
Among  the  number  who  paid  their  de- 
votions at  her  shrine,  she  singled  one, 
a  young  ensign  of  mean  birth,  indifferent 
education,  and  weak  intellects.  How 
such  a  man  came  into  the  army  we 
hardly  know  to  account  for;  and  how  he 
afterward  rose  to  posts  of  honor  is  like- 
wise strange  and  wonderful.  But  for- 
tune is  blind,  and  so  are  those,  too,  fre- 
quently, who  have  the  power  of  dispens- 
ing her  favors:  else  why  do  we  see  fools 
and  knaves  at  the  very  top  of  the  wheel, 
while  patient  merit  sinks  to  the  extreme 
of  the  opposite  abyss.  But  we  may  form 
a  thousand  conjectures  on  this  subject, 
and  yet  never  hit  on  the  right.  Let  us, 
therefore,  endeavor  to  deserve  her  smiles, 

84 


H  IRetrospect 

and  whether  we  succeed  or  not,  we  shall 
feel  more  innate  satisfaction  than  thou- 
sands of  those  who  bask  in  the  sunshine 
of  her  favor  unworthily.  But  to  return 
to  Mrs.  Crayton:  this  young  man,  whom 
I  shall  distinguish  by  the  name  of  Cory- 
don,  was  the  reigning  favorite  of  her 
heart.  He  escorted  her  to  the  play, 
danced  with  her  at  every  ball,  and,  when 
indisposition  prevented  her  going  out, 
it  was  he  alone  who  was  permitted  to 
cheer  the  gloomy  solitude  to  which  she 
was  obliged  to  confine  herself.  Did  she 
ever  think  of  poor  Charlotte  ? — if  she  did, 
my  dear  miss,  it  was  only  to  laugh  at 
the  poor  girl's  want  of  spirit  in  consent- 
ing to  be  moped  up  in  the  country,  while 
Montraville  was  enjoying  all  the  pleas- 
ures of  a  gay,  dissipated  city.  When 
she  heard  of  his  marriage,  she  smiling 
said:  "So  there's  an  end  of  Madame 
Charlotte's  hopes.  I  wonder  who  will 
take  her  now,  or  what  will  become  of  the 
little  affected  prude?" 

85 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

But,  as  you  have  led  to  the  subject,  I 
think  we  may  as  well  return  to  the  dis- 
tressed Charlotte,  and  not,  like  the  un- 
feeling Mrs.  Crayton,  shut  our  hearts  to 
the  call  of  humanity. 


86 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WE   GO   FORWARD  AGAIN 

THE  strength  of  Charlotte's  constitu- 
tion combated  against  her  disorder,  and 
she  began  slowly  to  recover,  tho  she  still 
labored  under  a  violent  depression  of 
spirits:  how  must  that  depression  be  in- 
creased, when  upon  examining  her  little 
store,  she  found  herself  reduced  to  one 
solitary  guinea,  and  that  during  her  ill- 
ness the  attendance  of  an  apothecary  and 
nurse,  together  with  many  other  un- 
avoidable expenses,  had  involved  her  in 
debt,  from  which  she  saw  no  method  of 
extricating  herself.  As  to  the  faint  hope 
which  she  had  entertained  of  hearing 
from  and  being  relieved  by  her  parents; 
it  now  entirely  forsook  her,  for  it  was 
above  four  months  since  her  letter  was 
dispatched,  and  she  had  received  no  an- 

87 


Cbariotte  Uempie 

swer;  she,  therefore,  imagined  that  her 
conduct  had  either  entirely  alienated  their 
affection  from  her,  or  broken  their  hearts, 
and  she  must  never  more  hope  to  receive 
their  blessings. 

Never  did  any  human  being  wish  for 
death  with  greater  fervency  or  with  juster 
cause;  yet  she  had  too  just  a  sense  of  the 
duties  of  the  Christian  religion  to  at- 
tempt to  put  a  period  to  her  own  exist- 
ence. "I  have  but  to  be  patient  a  little 
longer/'  she  would  cry,  "and  nature,  fa- 
tigued and  fainting,  will  throw  off  this 
heavy  load  of  mortality,  and  I  shall  be 
relieved  from  all  my  sufferings." 

It  was  one  cold,  stormy  day  in  the  lat- 
ter end  of  December,  as  Charlotte  sat  by 
a  handful  of  fire,  the  low  state  of  her 
finances  not  allowing  her  to  replenish 
her  stock  of  fuel,  and  prudence  teach- 
ing her  to  be  careful  of  what  she  had, 
when  she  was  surprised  by  the  entrance 
of  a  farmer's  wife,  who,  without  much 
88 


fforwarfc 


ceremony,  seated  herself  and  began  this 
curious  harangue. 

"I'm  come  to  see  if  as  how  you  can 
pay  your  rent,  because  as  how  we  hear 
Captain  Montable  is  gone  away,  and  it's 
fifty  to  one  if  he  b'ant  killed  afore  he 
comes  back  again;  and  then,  miss  or 
ma'am,  or  whatever  you  may  be,  as  I 
was  saying  to  my  husband,  where  are  we 
to  look  for  our  money  ?  " 

This  was  a  stroke  altogether  unex- 
pected by  Charlotte:  she  knew  so  little  of 
the  ways  of  the  world  that  she  had  never 
bestowed  a  thought  on  the  payment  for  the 
rent  of  the  house;  she  knew,  indeed,  that 
she  owed  a  good  deal,  but  this  was  never 
reckoned  among  the  others:  she  was 
thunderstruck;  she  hardly  knew  what 
answer  to  make,  yet  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  she  should  say  something; 
and  judging  of  the  gentleness  of  every  fe- 
male disposition  by  her  own,  she  thought 
the  best  way  to  interest  the  woman  in  her 
favor  would  be  to  tell  her  candidly  to 

89 


Cbarlotte  ttemple 

what  a  situation  she  was  reduced,  and 
how  little  probability  there  was  of  her 
ever  paying  anybody. 

Alas,  poor  Charlotte;  how  confined 
was  her  knowledge  of  human  nature,  or 
she  would  have  been  convinced  that  the 
only  way  to  insure  the  friendship  and 
assistance  of  your  surrounding  acquaint- 
ance, is  to  convince  them  that  you  do 
not  require  it,  for  when  once  the  petrify- 
ing aspect  of  distress  and  penury  appear, 
whose  qualities,  like  Medusa's  head,  can 
change  to  stone  all  that  look  upon  it; 
when  once  this  Gorgon  claims  acquaint- 
ance with  us,  the  phantom  of  friendship, 
that  before  courted  our  notice,  will  van- 
ish into  unsubstantial  air,  and  the  whole 
world  before  us  appear  a  barren  waste. 
Pardon  me,  ye  dear  spirits  of  benevo- 
lence, whose  benign  smiles  and  cheerful- 
giving  hand  have  strewed  sweet  flowers 
on  many  a  thorny  path  through  which 
my  wayward  fate  forced  me  to  pass; 
think  not,  that  in  condemning  the  un- 
90 


jforwarfc  H0afn 

feeling  texture  of  the  human  heart,  I 
forget  the  spring  from  whence  flow  all 
the  comforts  I  enjoy:  oh,  no!  I  look 
up  to  you  as  to  bright  constellations, 
gathering  new  splendors  from  the  sur- 
rounding darkness;  but,  ah!  whilst  I 
adore  the  benignant  rays  that  cheered 
and  illumined  my  heart,  I  mourn  that 
their  influence  can  not  extend  to  all  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  affliction. 

"  Indeed,  madam/'  said  poor  Char- 
lotte, in  a  tremulous  accent,  "I  am  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  Montraville  placed  me 
here  and  promised  to  defray  all  my  ex- 
penses: but  he  has  forgot  his  promise, 
he  has  forsaken  me,  and  I  have  no 
friend  who  has  either  power  or  will  to 
relieve  me.  Let  me  hope,  as  you  see  my 
unhappy  situation,  your  charity " 

"Charity!"  cried  the  woman,  im- 
patiently interrupting  her,  "charity,  in- 
deed: why,  mistress,  charity  begins  at 
home,  and  I  have  seven  children  at 
home,  honest,  lawful  children,  and  it  is 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

my  duty  to  keep  them;  and  do  you  think 
I  will  give  away  my  property  to  a 
nasty,  impudent  hussy,  to  maintain  her 
and  her  bastard;  an  I  was  saying  to 
my  husband  the  other  day,  what  will 
this  world  come  to;  honest  women  are 
nothing  nowadays,  while  the  harlotings 
are  set  up  for  fine  ladies,  and  look  upon 
us  no  more  nor  the  dirt  they  walk 
upon:  but  let  me  tell  you,  my  fine 
spoken  ma'am,  I  must  have  my  money: 
so  seeing  as  how  you  can't  pay  it,  why, 
you  must  troop,  and  leave  all  your  fine 
gimcracks  and  fal-der-ralls  behind  you.  I 
don't  ask  for  no  more  than  my  right,  and 
nobody  shall  dare  for  to  go  for  to  hinder 
me  of  it." 

"Oh,  heavens!"  cried  Charlotte,  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  "what  will  become  of 
me?" 

"Come  on  ye!"  retorted  the  unfeel- 
ing wretch:  "why,  go  to  the  barracks 
and  work  for  a  morsel  of  bread;  wash 
and  mend  the  soldiers'  cloaths,  an  cook 
92 


fforwarfc  Hgatn 

their  victuals,  and  not  expect  to  live  in 
idleness  on  honest  peoples'  means.  Oh, 
I  wish  I  could  see  the  day  when  all  such 
cattle  were  obliged  to  work  hard  and  eat 
little;  it's  only  what  they  deserve." 

"Father  of  mercy,"  cried  Charlotte, 
"I  acknowledge  Thy  correction  just;  but 
prepare  me,  I  beseech  Thee,  for  the  por- 
tion of  misery  Thou  may'st  please  to  lay 
upon  me." 

"Well,"  said  the  woman,  "I  shall  go 
an  tell  my  husband  as  how  you  can't 
pay;  and  so,  d'ye  see,  ma'am,  get  ready 
to  be  packing  away  this  very  night,  for 
you  should  not  stay  another  night  in  this 
house,  tho  I  were  sure  you  would  lay 
in  the  street." 

Charlotte  bowed  her  head  in  silence; 
but  the  anguish  of  her  heart  was  too 
great  to  permit  her  to  articulate  a  single 
word. 


93 


CHAPTER  XXX 


And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  and  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep. 1 


WHEN  Charlotte  was  left  to  herself, 
she  began  to  think  what  course  she  must 
take,  or  to  whom  she  should  apply,  to 
prevent  her  perishing  for  want,  or 
perhaps  that  very  night  falling  a  victim 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  After 
many  perplexed  thoughts  she  at  last 
determined  to  set  out  for  New  York 
and  inquire  out  Mrs.  Crayton,  from 
whom  she  had  no  doubt  but  she  should 
obtain  immediate  relief  as  soon  as  her 
distress  was  made  known;  she  had  no 
sooner  formed  this  resolution  than  she 
resolved  immediately  to  put  it  in  exe- 
cution: she  therefore  wrote  the  follow- 
ing little  billet  to  Mrs.  Crayton,  thinking 

1  These  lines  are  Goldsmith's. 
94 


a  IRame 


if  she  should  have  company  with  her,  it 
would  be  better  to  send  it  in  than  to  re- 
quest to  see  her. 

"  To  MRS.  CLAYTON  : 

"  MADAM,  When  we  left  our  native  land,  that 
dear  happy  land  which  now  contains  all  that  is 
dear  to  the  wretched  Charlotte,  our  prospects 
were  the  same ;  we  both,  pardon  me,  madam,  if 
I  say,  we  both  too  easily  followed  the  impulse 
of  our  treacherous  hearts,  and  trusted  our  hap- 
piness on  a  tempestuous  ocean,  where  mine 
has  been  wrecked  and  lost  forever;  you  have 
been  more  fortunate — you  are  united  to  a  man 
of  honor  and  humanity,  united  by  the  most 
sacred  ties,  respected,  esteemed,  and  admired, 
and  surrounded  by  innumerable  blessings  of 
which  I  am  bereaved,  enjoying  those  pleasures 
which  have  fled  my  bosom,  never  to  return; 
alas!  sorrow  and  deep  regret  have  taken  their 
place.  Behold  me,  madam,  a  poor,  forsaken 
wanderer,  who  has  not  where  to  lay  her  weary 
head,  wherewith  to  supply  the  wants  of  nature, 
or  to  shield  her  from  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather.  To  you  I  sue,  to  you  I  look  for  pity 
and  relief.  I  ask  not  to  be  received  as  an  inti- 
mate or  an  equal;  only  for  charity's  sweet  sake, 

95 


Cbarlotte  Uempie 

receive  me  into  your  hospitable  mansion,  allot 
me  the  meanest  apartment  in  it,  and  let  me 
breathe  out  my  soul  in  prayers  for  your  happi- 
ness ;  I  can  not,  I  feel  I  can  not  long  bear  up 
under  the  accumulated  woes  that  pour  in  upon 
me;  but  oh!  my  dear  madam,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  suffer  me  not  to  expire  in  the  street; 
and  when  I  am  at  peace,  as  soon  I  shall  be, 
extend  your  compassion  to  my  helpless  off- 
spring, should  it  please  Heaven  that  it  should 
survive  its  unhappy  mother.  A  gleam  of  joy 
breaks  in  on  my  benighted  soul,  while  I  reflect 
that  you  can  not,  will  not,  refuse  your  protec- 
tion to  the  heart-broken  CHARLOTTE." 

When  Charlotte  had  finished  this  let- 
ter, late  as  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  and 
tho  the  snow  began  to  fall  very  fast, 
she  tied  up  a  few  necessaries,  which  she 
had  prepared  against  her  expected  con- 
finement, and  terrified  lest  she  should  be 
again  exposed  to  the  insults  of  her  bar- 
barous landlady,  more  dreadful  to  her 
wounded  spirit  than  either  storm  or  dark- 
ness, she  set  forward  for  New  York.1 


1  The  identity  of  the  house  which  Charlotte  was  now 

96 


ffrien&8bip  a  IRame 


It  may  be  asked  by  those  who,  in  a 
work  of  this  kind,  love  to  cavil  at  every 
trifling  omission,  whether  Charlotte  did 
not  possess  any  valuable  of  which  she 
could  have  disposed,  and  by  that  means 
have  supported  herself  till  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ's  return,  when  she  would  have 
been  certain  of  receiving  every  tender 
attention  which  compassion  and  friend- 
ship could  dictate:  but  let  me  entreat 
these  wise,  penetrating  gentlemen  to  re- 


leaving  with  a  house  shown  on  the  Ratzen  map  has 
already  been  referred  to  in  the  Introduction.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  further  than  in  Watson's  "Annals," 
published  in  1846,  its  location  is  given  as  what  was  then 
No.  24  Bowery,  the  edifice  being  described  as  "  a  low 
wooden  house."  Watson  gives  Dr.  John  W.  Francis, 
the  author  of  "Old  New  York,"  as  his  authority  for  the 
statement  that  Charlotte  lived  in  this  house.  Dr.  Fran- 
cis, at  the  time  when  Watson  wrote,  was  57  years  old, 
and  had  spent  his  life  in  New  York,  where  he  was  born 
in  1789. 

The  Bowery  at  that  point  is  now  accessible  from  the 
west,  not  only  by  Pell  Street,  but  by  another  street, 
called  Doyers,  which  turns  northerly  and  soon  enters 
Pell,  thus  making  a  small  triangular  block  bounded  by 
Doyers,  Pell,  and  the  Bowery.  Within  this  enclosure 
originally  stood  the  two  houses  shown  on  the  Ratzen 
map,  Charlotte's  house  being  subsequently  removed  to 
the  northwest  corner  of  Pell  and  the  Bowery,  where, 
as  already  stated,  it  was  known  as  "The  Old  Tree 
House." 

97 


dbariotte  Uemple 

fleet,  that  when  Charlotte  left  England, 
it  was  in  such  haste  that  there  was  no 
time  to  purchase  anything  more  than 
what  was  wanted  for  immediate  use  on 
the  voyage,  and  after  her  arrival  at  New 
York,  Montraville's  affection  soon  be- 
gan to  decline,  so  that  her  whole  ward- 
robe consisted  of  only  necessaries ;  and  as 
to  the  baubles,  with  which  fond  lovers 
often  load  their  mistresses,  she  possessed 
not  one,  except  a  plain  gold  locket  of 
small  value,  which  contained  a  lock  of  her 
mother's  hair,  and  which  the  greatest  ex- 
tremity of  want  could  not  have  forced 
her  to  part  with. 

I  hope,  sir,  your  prejudices  are  now  re- 
moved in  regard  to  the  probability  of  my 
story?  Oh,  they  are.  Well,  then,  with 
your  leave,  I  will  proceed.  The  distance 
from  the  house  which  our  suffering  hero- 
ine occupied,  to  New  York,  was  not  very 
great;  yet  the  snow  fell  so  fast,  and  the 
cold  so  intense,  that,  being  unable  from 
her  situation  to  walk  quick,  she  found 

98 


ffrfenfcsbfp  a  flame 


herself  almost  sinking  with  cold  and  fa- 
tigue before  she  reached  the  town;  her 
garments,  which  were  merely  suitable  to 
the  summer  season,  being  an  undress 
robe  of  plain  white  muslin,  were  wet 
through;  and  a  thin,  black  cloak  and 
bonnet,  very  improper  habiliments  for 
such  a  climate,  but  poorly  defended  her 
from  the  cold.  In  this  situation  she 
reached  the  city,  and  inquired  of  a  foot- 
soldier  whom  she  met,  the  way  to  Colonel 
Crayton's. 

"Bless  you,  my  sweet  lady/'  said  the 
soldier,  with  a  voice  and  look  of  compas- 
sion, "  I  will  show  you  the  way  with  all 
my  heart;  but  if  you  are  going  to  make 
a  petition  to  Madame  Crayton,  it  is  all  to 
no  purpose,  I  assure  you:  if  you  please, 
I  will  conduct  you  to  Mr.  Franklin's: 
tho  Miss  Julia  is  married  and  gone  now, 
yet  the  old  gentleman  is  very  good." 

"Julia  Franklin/'  said  Charlotte;  "is 
she  not  married  to  Montraville?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  soldier,  "and  may 

99 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

God  bless  them,  for  a  better  officer  never 
lived,  he  is  so  good  to  us  all;  and  as  to 
Miss  Julia,  all  the  poor  folks  almost  wor- 
shiped her." 

"Gracious  Heaven!"  cried  Charlotte, 
"is  Montraville  unjust  then  to  none  but 
me?" 

The  soldier  now  showed  her  Colonel 
Crayton's  door,  and  with  a  beating  heart 
she  knocked  for  admission.1 


1  In  attempts  heretofore  made  to  establish  the  identity 
of  this  house,  two  famous  Colonial  homes  have  been 
brought  into  the  discussion  —  the  Franklin  and  the 
Walton.  The  former  was  perhaps  first  suggested  in 
consequence  of  its  name,  but,  as  already  pointed  out, 
the  Julia  Franklin  episode  in  "  Charlotte  Temple  "  never 
occurred  in  real  life. 

The  Franklin  house  stood  at  the  northwest  corner  of 
Franklin  Square  and  Cherry  Street,  the  site  being  now 
overshadowed  by  one  of  the  arches  of  the  approach  to 
the  Brooklyn  Bridge.  It  was  built  in  1770,  and  few, 
if  any,  private  houses  in  America  at  that  time,  were 
more  imposing.  During  Washington's  residence  in  New 
York  as  President,  beginning  in  1789,  it  was  his  first 
home. 

The  Walton  house,  of  which  the  Franklin  house  was 
a  rival,  stood  a  little  further  south  on  Pearl  Street,  near 
Franklin  Square,  and  had  been  built  twenty  years 
earlier,  when  no  home  in  America  was  quite  its  equal 
in  architectural  splendor  or  in  furnishings.  Its  owner, 
William  Walton,  was  a  commercial  magnate  who,  in 
the  late  Colonial  times,  entertained  with  such  excep- 
tional munificence,  that  his  expenditures  were  cited  in 
Parliament  as  evidence  of  the  ability  of  people  in  the 
Colonies  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  Stamp  Tax. 

100 


CHAPTER   XXXI1 

SUBJECT  CONTINUED 

WHEN  the  door  was  opened,  Char- 
lotte, in  a  voice  rendered  scarcely  artic- 
ulate, through  cold  and  the  extreme  agi- 
tation of  her  mind,  demanded  whether 
Mrs.  Crayton  was  at  home;  the  servant 
hesitated:  he  knew  that  his  lady  was 
engaged  at  a  game  of  picquet  with  her 
dear  Corydon,  nor  could  he  think  she 
would  like  to  be  disturbed  by  a  person 
whose  appearance  spoke  her  of  so  little 
consequence  as  Charlotte;  yet  there  was 
something  in  her  countenance  that  rather 
interested  him  in  her  favor,  and  he  said 
his  lady  was  engaged ;  but  if  she  had  any 
particular  message  he  would  deliver  it. 

"Take  up  this  letter,"  said  Charlotte, 


1  By  mistake  this  chapter  is  numbered  XXXVII.  in 
the  first  American  edition. 

101 


Cbarlotte  temple 

"tell  her  the  unhappy  writer  of  it  waits 
in  the  hall  for  an  answer." 

The  tremulous  accent,  the  tearful  eye, 
must  have  moved  any  heart  not  composed 
of  adamant.  The  man  took  the  letter 
from  the  poor  suppliant,  and  hastily  as- 
cended the  staircase. 

"A  letter,  madam,"  said  he,  presenting 
it  to  his  lady;  "an  immediate  answer  is 
required." 

Mrs.  Crayton  glanced  her  eye  care- 
lessly over  the  contents.  "What  stuff 
is  this";  cried  she,  haughtily;  "have  not 
I  told  you  a  thousand  times  that  I  will 
not  be  plagued  with  beggars  and  pe- 
titions from  people  one  knows  nothing 
about?  Go  tell  the  woman  I  can't  do 
anything  in  it.  I'm  sorry,  but  one  can't 
relieve  everybody." 

The  servant  bowed,  and  heavily  re- 
turned with  this  chilling  message  to 
Charlotte. 

"  Surely,"  said  she,  "  Mrs.  Crayton  has 
not  read  my  letter.  Go,  my  good  friend, 
102 


Subject  Continued 

pray,  go  back  to  her;  tell  her  it  is  Char- 
lotte Temple  who  requests  beneath  her 
hospitable  roof  to  find  shelter  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  season." 

"Prithee,  don't  plague  me,  man," 
cried  Mrs.  Crayton,  impatiently,  as  the 
servant  advanced  something  in  behalf  of 
the  unhappy  girl.  "I  tell  you  I  don't 
know  her." 

"Not  know  me!"  cried  Charlotte, 
rushing  into  the  room  (for  she  had  fol- 
lowed the  man  up-stairs),  "not  know  me 
— not  remember  the  ruined  Charlotte 
Temple,  who,  but  for  you,  perhap  might 
still  have  been  innocent,  still  have  been 
happy.  Oh!  La  Rue,  this  is  beyond 
everything  I  could  have  believed  pos- 
sible." 

"Upon  my  honor,  miss,"  replied  the 
unfeeling  woman  with  the  utmost  ef- 
frontery, "this  is  a  most  unaccountable 
address:  it  is  beyond  my  comprehen- 
sion. John,"  continued  she,  turning  to 
the  servant,  "the  young  woman  is  cer- 
103 


Cbariotte  temple 

tainly  out  of  her  senses ;  do  pray  take  her 
away,  she  terrifies  me  to  death." 

"Oh,  God!"  cried  Charlotte,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  an  agony,  "this  is  too 
much;  what  will  become  of  me?  but  I 
will  not  leave  you;  they  shall  not  tear 
me  from  you;  here  on  my  knees  I  con- 
jure you  to  save  me  from  perishing  in 
the  street;  if  you  really  have  forgotten 
me,  O,  for  charity's  sweet  sake,  this 
night  let  me  be  sheltered  from  the  win- 
ter's piercing  cold." 

The  kneeling  figure  of  Charlotte,  in 
her  affecting  situation,  might  have  moved 
the  heart  of  a  stoic  to  compassion;  but 
Mrs.  Crayton  remained  inflexible.  In 
vain  did  Charlotte  recount  the  time 
they  had  known  each  other  at  Chiches- 
ter;  in  vain  mention  their  being  in  the 
same  ship;  in  vain  were  the  names  of 
Montraville  and  Belcour  mentioned. 
Mrs.  Crayton  could  only  say  she  was 
sorry  for  her  imprudence,  but  could  not 
think  of  having  her  own  reputation  en- 
104 


Subject  Continue!) 

dangered  by  encouraging  a  woman  of 
that  kind  in  her  own  house;  besides,  she 
did  not  know  what  trouble  and  expense 
she  might  bring  upon  her  husband  by 
giving  shelter  to  a  woman  in  her  situa- 
tion. 

"I  can  at  least  die  here/'  said  Char- 
lotte. "I  feel  I  can  not  long  survive 
this  dreadful  conflict.  Father  of  mercy, 
here  let  me  finish  my  existence."  Her 
agonizing  sensations  overpowered  her, 
and  she  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 

"Take  her  away/'  said  Mrs.  Crayton; 
"she  will  really  frighten  me  into  hys- 
terics; take  her  away,  I  say,  this  in- 
stant." 

"And  where  must  I  take  the  poor 
creature?"  said  the  servant,  with  a  voice 
and  look  of  compassion. 

"Anywhere,"  cried  she,  hastily,  "only 
don't  let  me  ever  see  her  again.  I  de- 
clare she  has  flurried  me  so,  I  sha'n't  be 
myself  again  this  fortnight." 

John,   assisted  by   his   fellow   servant, 

105 


Cbarlotte  TIempie 

raised  and  carried  her  down-stairs. 
"Poor  soul,"  said  he,  "you  shall  not 
lay  in  the  street  this  night.  I  have  a  bed 
and  a  poor  little  hovel,  where  my  wife 
and  her  little  ones  rest  them;  but  they 
shall  watch  to-night  and  you  shall  be 
sheltered  from  danger."  They  placed 
her  in  a  chair;  and  the  benevolent  man, 
assisted  by  one  of  his  comrades,  carried 
her  to  the  place  where  his  wife  and 
children  lived.  A  surgeon  was  sent  for; 
he  bled  her;  she  gave  signs  of  returning 
life,  and  before  the  dawn  gave  birth  to 
a  female  infant.  After  this  event,  she  lay 
for  some  hours  in  a  kind  of  stupor ;  and, 
if  at  any  time  she  spoke,  it  was  with  a 
quickness  and  incoherence  that  plainly 
evinced  the  total  deprivation  of  her 
reason. 


106 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

REASONS    WHY    AND    WHEREFORE 

THE  reader  of  sensibility  may  perhaps 
be  astonished  to  find  Mrs.  Crayton  could 
so  positively  deny  any  knowledge  of 
Charlotte;  it  is,  therefore,  but  just  that 
her  conduct  should  in  some  measure  be 
accounted  for. 

She  had  ever  been  fully  sensible  of  the 
superiority  of  Charlotte's  sense  and  vir- 
tue ;  she  was  conscious  that  she  had  never 
swerved  from  rectitude  had  it  not  been 
for  her  bad  precepts  and  worse  example. 
These  were  things  as  yet  unknown  to  her 
husband;  and  she  wished  not  to  have 
that  part  of  her  conduct  exposed  to 
him,  as  she  had  great  reason  to  fear  she 
had  already  lost  considerable  part  of  that 
power  she  once  maintained  over  him.  She 
trembled  whilst  Charlotte  was  in  the 
107 


Gbarlotte  Uemple 

house,  lest  the  colonel  should  return; 
she  perfectly  well  remembered  how  much 
he  seemed  interested  in  her  favor,  whilst 
on  their  passage  from  England,  and  made 
no  doubt  but,  should  he  see  her  in  her 
present  distress,  he  would  offer  her  an 
asylum,  and  protect  her  to  the  utmost 
of  his  power.  In  that  case,  she  feared 
the  unguarded  nature  of  Charlotte  might 
discover  to  the  colonel  the  part  she  had 
taken  in  the  unhappy  girl's  elopement, 
and  she  well  knew  the  contrast  between 
her  own  and  Charlotte's  conduct,  would 
make  the  former  appear  in  no  very  re- 
spectable light.  Had  she  reflected  prop- 
erly, she  would  have  afforded  the  poor 
girl  protection;  and,  by  enjoining  her 
silence,  insured  it  by  acts  of  repeated 
kindness;  but  vice  in  general  blinds  its 
votaries,  and  they  discover  their  real 
characters  to  the  world  when  they  are 
most  studious  to  preserve  appearances. 

Just  so  it  happened  with  Mrs.  Cray- 
ton:   her   servants   made   no   scruple   of 
108 


IReasons 


mentioning  the  cruel  conduct  of  their 
lady  to  a  poor  distressed  lunatic  who 
claimed  her  protection;  every  one  joined 
in  reprobating  her  inhumanity;  nay, 
even  Corydon  thought  she  might  at  least 
have  ordered  her  to  be  taken  care  of,  but 
he  dare  not  even  hint  it  to  her,  for  he 
lived  but  in  her  smiles,  and  drew  from 
her  lavish  fondness  large  sums  to  sup- 
port an  extravagance  to  which  the  state 
of  his  own  finances  was  very  inadequate  : 
it  can  not  therefore  be  supposed  that  he 
wished  Mrs.  Crayton  to  be  very  liberal 
in  her  bounty  to  the  afflicted  suppliant; 
yet  vice  had  not  so  entirely  seared  over 
his  heart  but  the  sorrows  of  Charlotte 
could  find  a  vulnerable  part. 

Charlotte  had  now  been  three  days 
with  her  humane  preservers,  but  she 
was  totally  insensible  of  everything;  she 
raved  incessantly  for  Montraville  and 
her  father;  she  was  not  conscious  of  be- 
ing a  mother,  nor  took  the  least  notice 
of  her  child,  except  to  ask  whose  it  was, 
109 


Cbarlottc  Uemple 

and  why  it  was  not  carried  to  its  par- 
ents. 

"Oh!"  said  she  one  day,  starting  up 
on  hearing  the  infant  cry,  "why,  why, 
will  you  keep  that  child  here;  I  am  sure 
you  would  not  if  you  knew  how  hard  it 
was  for  a  mother  to  be  parted  from  her 
infant:  it  is  like  tearing  the  cords  of  life 
asunder.  Oh!  could  you  see  the  horrid 
sight  which  I  now  behold — there — there 
stands  my  dear  mother,  her  poor  bosom 
bleeding  at  every  vein;  her  gentle,  affec- 
tionate heart  torn  in  a  thousand  pieces, 
and  all  for  the  loss  of  a  ruined,  ungrate- 
ful child.  Save  me — save  me — from  her 
frown!  I  dare  not — indeed  I  dare  not 
speak  to  her." 

Such  were  the  dreadful  images  that 
haunted  her  distracted  mind,  and  nature 
was  sinking  fast  under  the  dreadful  mal- 
ady which  medicine  had  no  power  to  re- 
move. The  surgeon  who  attended  her 
was  a  humane  man;  he  exerted  his  ut- 
most abilities  to  save  her;  but  he  saw 
no 


tReasons 


she  was  in  want  of  many  necessaries  and 
comforts  which  the  poverty  of  her  hos- 
pitable host  rendered  him  unable  to 
provide  ;  he  therefore  determined  to  make 
her  situation  known  to  some  of  the  offi- 
cers' ladies,  and  endeavor  to  make  a  col- 
lection for  her  relief. 

When  he  returned  home  after  making 
this  resolution,  he  found  a  message  from 
Mrs.  Beauchamp,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  Rhode  Island,  requesting  he  would 
call  and  see  one  of  her  children,  who  was 
very  unwell.  "I  do  not  know,"  said  he, 
as  he  was  hastening  to  obey  the  summons, 
"I  do  not  know  a  woman  to  whom  I 
could  apply  with  more  hope  of  success 
than  Mrs.  Beauchamp.  I  will  endeavor 
to  interest  her  in  this  poor  girl's  behalf; 
she  wants  the  soothing  balm  of  friendly 
consolation:  we  may  perhaps  save  her; 
we  will  try,  at  least." 

"And  where  is  she?"  cried  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ,  when  he  had  prescribed  some- 
thing for  the  child,  and  told  his  little  pa- 
iii 


Cbarlotte  temple 

thetic  tale,  "  where  is  she,  sir  ?  we  will  go 
to  her  immediately.  Heaven  forbid  that 
I  should  be  deaf  to  the  calls  of  humanity. 
Come,  we  will  go  this  instant."  Then 
seizing  the  doctor's  arm,  they  sought  the 
habitation  that  contained  the  dying  Char- 
lotte. 


112 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

WHICH  PEOPLE  VOID  OF  FEELING  NEED 
NOT  READ 

WHEN  Mrs.  Beauchamp  entered  the 
apartment  of  the  poor  sufferer,  she  start- 
ed back  with  horror.  On  a  wretched 
bed,  without  hangings  and  but  poorly 
supplied  with  covering,  lay  the  emaciated 
figure  of  what  still  retained  the  sem- 
blance of  a  lovely  woman,  tho  sick- 
ness had  so  altered  her  features  that  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  had  not  the  least  recollection 
of  her  person.  In  one  corner  of  the  room 
stood  a  woman  washing,  and  shivering 
over  a  small  fire,  two  healthy,  but  half- 
naked  children;  the  infant  was  asleep 
beside  its  mother,  and  on  a  chair  by  the 
bedside  stood  a  porringer  and  wooden 
spoon  containing  a  little  gruel,  and  a  tea- 
cup with  about  two  spoonfuls  of  wine  in 


Cbarlotte  temple 

it.  Mrs.  Beauchamp  had  never  before  be- 
held such  a  scene  of  poverty;  she  shud- 
dered involuntarily,  and  exclaiming — 
"heaven  preserve  us!"  leaned  on  the 
back  of  a  chair,  ready  to  sink  to  the 
earth.  The  doctor  repented  having  so 
precipitately  brought  her  into  this  af- 
fecting scene;  but  there  was  no  time  for 
apologies :  Charlotte  caught  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  starting  almost  out  of  bed, 
exclaimed — "Angel  of  peace  and  mercy, 
art  thou  come  to  deliver  me?  Oh,  I 
know  you  are,  for  whenever  you  was 
near  me  I  felt  eased  of  half  my  sorrows; 
but  you  don't  know  me,  nor  can  I,  with 
all  the  recollection  I  am  mistress  of,  re- 
member your  name  just  now ;  but  I  know 
that  benevolent  countenance  and  the  soft- 
ness of  that  voice,  which  has  so  often 
comforted  the  wretched  Charlotte." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  had,  during  the  time 

Charlotte  was  speaking,  seated  herself  on 

the  bed:   and  taking  one  of  her  hands 

she  looked  at  her  attentively,  and  at  the 

114 


^Unfeeling  people  1Ree&  IFlot 


name  of  Charlotte  she  perfectly  con- 
ceived the  whole  shocking  affair.  A  faint 
sickness  came  over  her.  "  Gracious 
Heaven!"  said  she,  "is  this  possible?" 
and  bursting  into  tears,  she  reclined  the 
burning  head  of  Charlotte  on  her  own 
bosom;  and  folding  her  arms  about  her, 
wept  over  her  in  silence.  "Oh,"  said 
Charlotte,  "you  are  very  good  to  weep 
thus  for  me:  it  is  a  long  time  since  I 
shed  a  tear  for  myself:  my  head  and 
heart  are  both  on  fire;  but  these  tears 
of  yours  seem  to  cool  and  refresh  it. 
Oh,  now  I  remember  you  said  you  would 
send  a  letter  to  my  poor  father:  do  you 
think  he  ever  received  it?  or  perhaps 
you  have  brought  me  an  answer: 
why  don't  you  speak,  madam?  Does  he 
say  I  may  go  home?  Well,  he  is  very 
good:  I  shall  soon  be  ready." 

She  then  made  an  effort  to  get  out  of 
bed;  but  being  prevented,  her  frenzy 
again  returned,  and  she  raved  with  the 
greatest  wildness  and  incoherence.  Mrs. 


Cbarlotte  Tlemplc 

Beauchamp,  finding  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  be  removed,  contented  herself  with 
ordering  the  apartment  to  be  made  more 
comfortable,  and  procuring  a  proper 
nurse  for  both  mother  and  child;  and 
having  learned  the  particulars  of  Char- 
lotte's fruitless  application  to  Mrs.  Cray- 
ton  from  honest  John,  she  amply  reward- 
ed him  for  his  benevolence,  and  returned 
home  with  a  heart  oppressed  with  many 
painful  sensations,  but  yet  rendered  easy 
by  the  reflection  that  she  had  performed 
her  duty  towards  a  distressed  fellow 
creature. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  again  vis- 
ited Charlotte,  and  found  her  tolerably 
composed ;  she  called  her  by  name,  thanked 
her  for  her  goodness,  and  when  her  child 
was  brought  to  her,  pressed  it  in  her 
arms,  wept  over  it,  and  called  it  the  off- 
spring of  disobedience.  Mrs.  Beauchamp 
was  delighted  to  see  her  so  much  amend- 
ed, and  began  to  hope  she  might  recover, 
and  spite  of  her  former  errors,  become  an 
116 


mnfeelfna  people  meet)  IRot  *Rea& 


useful  and  respectable  member  of  society; 
but  the  arrival  of  the  doctor  put  an  end 
to  these  delusive  hopes:  he  said  nature 
was  making  her  last  effort,  and  a  few 
hours  would  most  probably  consign  the 
unhappy  girl  to  her  kindred  dust. 

Being  asked  how  she  found  herself, 
she  replied — "Why,  better,  much  better, 
doctor.  I  hope  now  I  have  but  little  more 
to  suffer.  I  had  last  night  a  few  hours' 
sleep,  and  when  I  awoke  recovered  the 
full  power  of  recollection.  I  am  quite  sen- 
sible of  my  weakness;  I  feel  I  have  but 
little  longer  to  combat  with  the  shafts  of 
affliction.  I  have  an  humble  confidence 
in  the  mercy  of  Him  who  died  to  save 
the  world,  and  trust  that  my  sufferings 
in  this  state  of  mortality,  joined  to  my 
unfeigned  repentance,  through  His 
mercy,  have  blotted  my  offences  from 
the  sight  of  my  offended  Maker.  I  have 
but  one  care — my  poor  infant!  Father 
of  mercy!"  continued  she,  raising  her 
eyes,  "of  Thy  infinite  goodness,  grant 
117 


Cbarlotte  tTempIe 

that  the  sins  of  the  parent  be  not  visited 
on  the  unoffending  child.  May  those 
who  taught  me  to  despise  Thy  laws  be 
forgiven;  lay  not  my  offences  to  their 
charge  I  beseech  Thee;  and  oh!  shower 
the  choicest  of  Thy  blessings  on  those 
whose  pity  has  soothed  the  afflicted  heart, 
and  made  easy  even  the  bed  of  pain 
and  sickness." 

She  was  exhausted  by  this  fervent  ad- 
dress to  the  throne  of  mercy,  and  tho 
her  lips  still  moved,  her  voice  became 
inarticulate:  she  lay  for  some  time,  as  it 
were,  in  a  doze,  and  then  recovering, 
faintly  pressed  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  hand, 
and  requested  that  a  clergyman  might 
be  sent  for. 

On  his  arrival  she  joined  fervently  in 
the  pious  office,  frequently  mentioning 
her  ingratitude  to  her  parents  as  what 
lay  most  heavy  at  her  heart.  When  she 
had  performed  the  last  solemn  duty,  and 
was  preparing  to  lie  down,  a  little  bustle 
on  the  outside  door  occasioned  Mrs. 
n8 


"dnteeiimj  ipeople  1Ree&  TRot  1Reab 


Beauchamp  to  open  it  and  inquire  the 
cause.  A  man,  in  appearance  about 
forty,  presented  himself,  and  asked  for 
Mrs.  Beauchamp. 

"That  is  my  name,  sir,"  said  she. 

"Oh,  then,  my  dear  madam,"  cried 
he,  "tell  me  where  I  may  find  my  poor, 
ruined,  but  repentant  child." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  surprised  and 
affected;  she  knew  not  what  to  say;  she 
foresaw  the  agony  this  interview  would 
occasion  Mr.  Temple,  who  had  just  ar- 
rived in  search  of  his  Charlotte,  and  yet 
was  sensible  that  the  pardon  and  blessing 
of  her  father  would  soften  even  the  agon- 
ies of  death  to  the  daughter. 

She  hesitated.  "Tell  me,  madam," 
cried  he,  wildly,  "tell  me,  I  beseech  thee, 
does  she  live  ?  shall  I  see  my  darling  once 
again?  Perhaps  she  is  in  this  house. 
Lead,  lead  me  to  her,  that  I  may  bless 
her,  and  then  lie  down  and  die." 

The  ardent  manner  in  which  he  ut- 
tered these  words  occasioned  him  to  raise 
119 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

his  voice.  It  caught  the  ear  of  Charlotte : 
she  knew  the  beloved  sound :  and  uttering 
a  loud  shriek,  she  sprang  forward  as 
Mr.  Temple  entered  the  room.  "My 
adored  father."  "My  long  lost  child." 
Nature  could  support  no  more,  and  they 
both  sunk  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  the 
attendants. 

Charlotte  was  again  put  into  bed,  and 
a  few  moments  restored  Mr.  Temple:  but 
to  describe  the  agony  of  his  .sufferings 
is  past  the  power  of  any  one,  who  tho  they 
may  readily  conceive,  can  not  delineate 
the  dreadful  scene.  Every  eye  gave  testi- 
mony of  what  each  heart  felt — but  all 
were  silent. 

When  Charlotte  recovered,  she  found 
herself  supported  in  her  father's  arms. 
She  cast  on  him  a  most  expressive  look, 
but  was  unable  to  speak.  A  reviving  cor- 
dial was  administered.  She  then  asked  in 
a  low  voice  for  her  child:  it  was 
brought  to  her :  she  put  it  in  her  father's 
120 


TUnfeeltng  people  Heefc  Hot  1Rea^ 


arms.  "Protect  her,"  said  she,  "and 
bless  your  dying- 
Unable  to  finish  the  sentence,  she  sunk 
back  on  her  pillow:  her  countenance  was 
serenely  composed;  she  regarded  her 
father  as  he  pressed  the  infant  to  his 
breast,  with  a  steadfast  look;  a  sudden 
beam  of  joy  passed  across  her  languid 
features:  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven — 
and  then  closed  them  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

RETRIBUTION 

IN  the  meantime,  Montraville  having 
received  orders  to  return  to  New  York, 
arrived,  and  having  still  some  remains  of 
compassionate  tenderness  for  the  woman 
whom  he  regarded  as  brought  to  shame 
by  himself  he  went  out  in  search  of  Bel- 
cour,  to  inquire  whether  she  was  safe,  and 
whether  the  child  lived.  He  found  him 
immersed  in  dissipation,  and  could  gain 
no  other  intelligence  than  that  Charlotte 
had  left  him,  and  that  he  knew  not  what 
was  become  of  her. 

"  I  can  not  believe  it  possible,"  said 
Montraville,  "that  a  mind  once  so  pure 
as  Charlotte  Temple's  should  so  sudden- 
ly become  the  mansion  of  vice.  Be- 
ware, Belcour,"  continued  he,  "beware 
if  you  have  dared  to  behave  either  un- 

122 


•Retribution 

justly  or  dishonorably  to  that  poor  girl, 
your  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit: — I  will 
revenge  her  cause." 

He  immediately  went  into  the  coun- 
try, to  the  house  where  he  had  left  Char- 
lotte. It  was  desolate.  After  much  in- 
quiry he  at  length  found  the  servant  girl 
who  had  lived  with  her.  From  her  he 
learnt  the  misery  Charlotte  had  endured 
from  the  complicated  evils  of  illness,  pov- 
erty, and  a  broken  heart,  and  that  she 
had  set  out  on  foot  for  New  York  on  a 
cold  winter's  evening;  but  she  could  in- 
form him  no  further. 

Tortured  almost  to  madness  by  this 
shocking  account,  he  returned  to  the 
city,  but  before  he  reached  it,  the  even- 
ing was  drawing  to  a  close.  In  entering 
the  town,  he  was  obliged  to  pass  several 
little  huts,1  the  residences  of  poor  women, 
who  supported  themselves  by  washing 


1  These  stood  upon  the  highway  which  was  long 
known  as  Chatham  Street.  It  is  now  that  part  of  Park 
Row  which  extends  from  Brooklyn  Bridge  to  Chatham 
Square. 

I23 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

the  clothes  of  the  officers  and  soldiers. 
It  was  nearly  dark;  he  heard  from  a 
neighboring  steeple  a  solemn  toll  that 
seemed  to  say,  some  poor  mortal  was 
going  to  their  last  mansion:  the  sound 
struck  on  the  heart  of  Montraville,  and 
he  involuntarily  stopped,  when  from  one 
of  the  houses  he  saw  the  appearance  of  a 
funeral.  Almost  unknowing  what  he  did, 
he  followed  at  a  small  distance;  and  as 
they  let  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  he  in- 
quired of  a  soldier,  who  stood  by,  and  had 
just  brushed  off  a  tear  that  did  honor  to 
his  heart,  who  it  was  that  was  just  buried. 
"An'  please  your  honor,"  said  the  man, 
"'tis  a  poor  girl  that  was  brought  from 
her  friends  by  a  cruel  man,  who  left  her 
when  she  was  big  with  child,  and  mar- 
ried another."  Montraville  stood  motion- 
less, and  the  man  proceeded — "  I  met  her 
myself,  not  a  fortnight  since,  one  night, 
all  wet  and  cold  in  the  streets;  she  went 
to  Madam  Crayton's,  but  she  would  not 
take  her  in  and  so  the  poor  thing  went 
124 


TRINITY  CHURCH   AT  THE  TIME   OF   CHARLOTTE'S  DEATH 
From  an  old  print 


IRetributton 

raving  mad."  Montraville  could  bear  no 
more;  he  struck  his  hands  against  his 
forehead  with  violence,  and  exclaiming, 
"poor  murdered  Charlotte!"  ran  with 
precipitation  towards  the  place  where 
they  were  heaping  the  earth  on  her  re- 
mains. "  Hold — hold !  one  moment,"  said 
he,  "close  not  the  grave  of  the  injured 
Charlotte  Temple,  till  I  have  taken  ven- 
geance on  her  murderer." 

"Rash  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
"who  art  thou  that  thus  disturbest  the 
last  mournful  rites  of  the  dead,  and 
rudely  breakest  in  upon  the  grief  of  an 
afflicted  father?" 

"If  thou  art  the  father  of  Charlotte 
Temple,"  said  he,  gazing  at  him  with 
mingled  horror  and  amazement — "if 
thou  art  her  father — I  am  Montraville." 

Then,  falling  on  his  knees,  he  con- 
tinued— "Here  is  my  bosom.  I  bare  it 
to  receive  the  stroke  I  merit.  Strike- 
strike  now,  and  save  me  from  the  misery 
of  reflection." 

125 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

"Alas!"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "if  them 
wert  the  seducer  of  my  child,  thy  own 
reflections  be  thy  punishment.  I  wrest 
not  the  power  from  the  hand  of  Om- 
nipotence. Look  on  that  little  heap  of 
earth;  there  hast  thou  buried  the  only 
joy  of  a  fond  father.  Look  at  it  often; 
and  may  thy  heart  feel  such  true  sorrow 
as  shall  merit  the  mercy  of  Heaven." 
He  turned  from  him,  and  Montraville, 
starting  up  from  the  ground  where  he 
had  thrown  himself,  and  at  that  instant 
remembering  the  perfidy  of  Belcour,  flew 
like  lightning  to  his  lodgings.  Belcour 
was  intoxicated;  Montraville  impetuous; 
they  fought,  and  the  sword  of  the  latter 
entered  the  heart  of  his  adversary.  He 
fell,  and  expired  almost  instantly.  Mon- 
traville had  received  a  slight  wound :  and, 
overcome  with  the  agitation  of  his  mind, 
and  loss  of  blood,  was  carried  in  a  state 
of  insensibility  to  his  distracted  wife.  A 
dangerous  illness  and  obstinate  delirium 
ensued,  during  which  he  raved  incessant- 
126 


31 

"1 

H     o 
2     9 

O     * 


IRetributfon 

ly  for  Charlotte:  but  a  strong  constitu- 
tion and  the  tender  assiduities  of  Julia, 
in  time  overcome  the  disorder.  He  re- 
covered, but  to  the  end  of  his  life  was 
subject  to  severe  fits  of  melancholy,  and 
while  he  remained  at  New  York,1  fre- 
quently retired  to  the  churchyard,  where 
he  would  weep  over  the  grave,  and  regret 
the  untimely  fate  of  the  lovely  Charlotte 
Temple. 


1  Colonel  Montresor,  it  will  be  recalled,  sailed  from 
New  York  with  his  family  in  the  autumn  of  1778, 
never  to  return. 

Mrs.  Rowson,  in  "  Lucy  Temple,"  says  Colonel  Frank- 
lin (that  is,  Montraville)  "  returned  to  his  own  country, 
which  he  had  left  nine  years  before  a  captain  of  artil- 
lery, with  little  besides  his  pay,  an  honorable  descent, 
and  fair  character,  to  receive  the  thanks  of  royalty  for 
his  intrepidity  [an  honor  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
Colonel  Montresor  is  known  to  have  received],  and  to 
dash  into  the  world  of  splendor  and  gaiety.  Promoted  to 
the  rank  of  colonel  of  artillery,  and  having  had  the  office 
of  Chief  Engineer  during  his  service  abroad  [the  exact 
office,  be  it  remembered,  which  Colonel  Montresor  held 
in  America],  he  stood  in  an  elevated  rank  and  associated 
with  the  first  personages  in  the  kingdom."  After  Colonel 
Franklin's  early  death,  his  widow,  discontented  in  Eng- 
land, "embarked  for  New  York  with  the  whole  of  her 
family,"  and  later  "purchased  a  beautiful  seat  on  the 
banks  of  the  Delaware,"  where  she  continued  to  live 
"  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  happiness  which  was  to 
be  derived  from  the  society  of  her  family  and  the  de- 
lightful serenity  of  nature." 

127 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

CONCLUSION 

SHORTLY  after  the  interment  of  his 
daughter,  Mr.  Temple,  with  his  dear  lit- 
tle charge  and  her  nurse,  set  forward  for 
England.  It  would  be  impossible  to  do 
justice  to  the  meeting-scene  between  him, 
his  Lucy,  and  her  aged  father.  Every 
heart  of  sensibility  can  easily  conceive 
their  feelings.  After  the  first  tumult  of 
grief  was  subsided,  Mrs.  Temple  gave  up 
the  chief  of  her  time  to  her  grandchild, 
and  as  she  grew  up  and  improved,  began 
to  almost  fancy  she  again  possessed  her 
Charlotte. 

It  was  about  ten  years  after  these 
painful  events,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, having  buried  their  father,  were 
obliged  to  come  to  London  on  particular 
business,1  and  brought  the  little  Lucy 

1  In  "  Lucy  Temple "  the  death  of  Colonel  Blakeney 
128 


w  § 

t  J 

0  *. 

-J  3 

K  -u 

<  o 

1  § 
0 


Conclusion 

with  them.  They  had  been  walking  one 
evening,  when,  on  their  return  they  found 
a  poor  wretch  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
door.  She  attempted  to  rise  as  they  ap- 
proached, but  from  extreme  weakness 
was  unable,  and  after  several  fruitless 
efforts  fell  back  in  a  fit.  Mr.  Temple 
was  not  one  of  those  men  who  stand  to 
consider  whether  by  assisting  an  object 
in  distress  they  shall  not  inconvenience 
themselves,  but,  instigated  by  the  impulse 
of  a  noble,  feeling  heart,  immediately 
ordered  her  to  be  carried  into  the  house 
and  proper  restoratives  applied. 


is  said  to  have  occurred  when  Lucy  was  ten  years  old. 
By  the  "particular  business"  above  referred  to,  Mrs. 
Rowson  may  have  had  in  mind  the  settlement  of  his  will 
under  which  Lucy  came  into  possession  of  £20,000. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Grice  Blakeney,  of  the  British 
army,  who  died  about  1785,  as  already  stated  in  the 
Introduction,  has  been  identified  as  the  original  of  the 
Blakeney  of  "  Charlotte  Temple  "  and  "  Lucy  Temple." 
He  belonged  to  an  ancient  English  family  long  settled 
in  Norfolk,  where  they  possessed  a  considerable  landed 
estate,  but  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  removed  to 
Ireland.  In  Galway  they  still  have  their  seat,  which  is 
called  Castle  Blakeney.  Colonel  Blakeney' s  direct  con- 
nection with  the  family  in  Ireland  is  indicated  in 
Burke's  "  Landed  Gentry."  He  is  described  there  as  an 
army  officer  "who  died  unmarried." 

129 


Cbarlotte  temple 

She  soon  recovered;  and  fixing  her 
eyes  on  Mrs.  Temple,  cried — "  You  know 
not,  madam,  what  you  do;  you  know  not 
whom  you  are  relieving,  or  you  would 
curse  me  in  the  bitterness  of  your  heart. 
Come  not  near  me,  madam,  I  shall  con- 
taminate you.  I  am  the  viper  that  stung 
your  peace.  I  am  the  woman  who  turned 
the  poor  Charlotte  out  to  perish  in  the 
street.  Heaven  have  mercy!  I  see  her 
now,"  continued  she,  looking  at  Lucy; 
"such,  such  was  the  fair  bud  of  inno- 
cence that  my  vile  arts  blasted  ere  it  was 
half  blown." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple entreated  her  to  be  composed  and  to 
take  some  refreshment.  She  only  drank 
half  a  glass  of  wine;  and  then  told  them 
that  she  had  been  separated  from  her 
husband  seven  years,  the  chief  of  which 
she  had  passed  in  riot,  dissipation  and 
vice,  till,  overtaken  by  poverty  and  sick- 
ness, she  had  been  reduced  to  part  with 
every  valuable,  and  thought  only  of  end- 
130 


Conclusion 

ing  her  life  in  a  prison;  when  a  benevo- 
lent friend  paid  her  debts  and  released 
her;  but  that,  her  illness  increasing,  she 
had  no  possible  means  of  supporting  her- 
self, and  her  friends  were  weary  of  re- 
lieving her.  "I  have  fasted,"  said  she, 
"  two  days,  and  last  night  laid  my  aching 
head  on  the  cold  pavement :  indeed,  it  was 
but  just  that  I  should  experience  those 
miseries  myself,  which  I  had  unfeelingly 
inflicted  on  others." 

Greatly  as  Mr.  Temple  had  reason  to 
detest  Mrs.  Crayton,  he  could  not  be- 
hold her  in  this  distress  without  some 
emotions  of  pity.  He  gave  her  shelter 
that  night  beneath  his  hospitable  roof, 
and  the  next  day  got  her  admission  into 
an  hospital:  where,  having  lingered  a 
few  weeks,  she  died,  a  striking  example 
that  vice,  however  prosperous  in  the 
beginning,  in  the  end  leads  only  to  misery 
and  shame. 


FINIS. 


INDEX 


Abercrombie,  General  James,  Ixxv. 

Abington,  Mass.,  xxi. 

Adams,  Samuel,  xxii. 

Ainslie,  Edward,  Ixxxix.  ' 

Albany,  N.  Y.,  xxviii.,  Ixxi. 

Alexandria,  Va.,  xcviii. 

Altemus,  Henry,  cvi. 

"America,  Commerce  and  Freedom,"  xxvi. 

"Americans  in  England,"  xxiv. 

Amherst,  General  Jeffery,  Ixxii.,  Ixxv. 

Andre,  John,  Ixxv. 

Andrus,  Gauntlett  &  Co.,  civ. 

Annapolis,  Md.,  xxiii. 

"Appleton's  Dictionary  of  National  Biography,"  1. 

Astor  Library,  the,  xci. 

Bacon,  John  B.  ("  John  Tripod "),  an  article  by, 
xxxv.;  describes  Lucy  Blakeney's  coming  to 
New  York,  Ivii.-lviii.;  describes  theft  of  the  in- 
scription plate  in  Trinity  churchyard,  Ixii.-lxiii. 

Baltimore,  Md.,  xxiii. 

Barbauld,  Anna  Letitia,  Ixvi. 

Barclay  &  Co.,  civ.,  cv. 

Bayard  Street,  xlvii. 

Beach,  Lazarus,  ci. 

Beauchamp,  Mrs.,  as  Mrs.  Rowson's  authority  for 
the  story  of  Charlotte  Temple,  xlii  ;  her  home 

133 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

in  New  York  near  Charlotte's,  xlviii.;  meets  her 
father,  Colonel  Crayton,  I.,  130-132;  inquires  as 
to  Charlotte,  130;  takes  a  home  near  her,  II.,  23; 
calls  on  Charlotte,  23-25,  28-34;  goes  to  Rhode 
Island,  48;  writes  to  Charlotte,  70;  returns  from 
Rhode  Island  and  goes  to  Charlotte,  111-112;  as- 
sists Charlotte  in  her  last  illness,  113-114;  meets 
Charlotte's  father,  119-120. 

Beauchamp,  an  officer  in  the  British  Army,  xlii.;  and 
Charlotte,  II.,  26-27;  goes  to  Rhode  Island,  48. 

Belcour,  in  Charlotte's  room,  Ixxiv. ;  at  Chichester 
with  Montraville,  I.,  7-10;  character  of,  73-74; 
encourages  Charlotte  to  go  with  Montraville,  86; 
interested  in  Charlotte,  123;  and  Colonel  Cray- 
ton,  126;  calls  on  Charlotte,  II.,  21;  poisons  the 
mind  of  Montraville  as  to  Charlotte,  41-43;  again 
found  in  Charlotte's  room,  45-46;  his  presence 
there  explained,  48-50;  and  Mr.  Franklin,  54;' 
receives  money  from  Montraville  for  Charlotte, 
64-68;  his  designs  on  Charlotte,  65;  suppresses 
letter  from  Charlotte  to  Montraville,  70;  pro- 
poses to  take  Charlotte  to  New  York,  73;  an- 
nounces to  Charlotte  Montraville's  marriage, 
71-78;  deserts  Charlotte,  78;  becomes  dissipated, 
122;  killed  in  a  duel  by  Montraville,  126. 

Bellevue,  Colonel  Franklin's  home,  Ixxxvi. 

Belmont,  Colonel  Montresor's  home  in  England, 
Ixxxiv.,  Ixxxvi. 

"  Ben  Hur,"  Ixv. 

"  Biblical  Dialogues,"  xxvii. 

Blakeney,  Colonel  Grice,  identified  as  the  Blakeney 
of  "Charlotte  Temple,"  Ivii.-lviii.;  II.,  128-129; 
induces  Mr.  Temple  to  aid  Mr.  Eldridge,  I.,  14- 
16,  18;  as  the  hero  of  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  35. 

134 


Blakeney,  Lucy,  erects  a  memorial  stone  to  her 
mother,  Charlotte  Temple,  in  Trinity  church- 
yard, Ivi.,  Ivii.;  becomes  an  heiress,  lix.;  an  offer 
of  marriage  to,  Ixxxvii.;  when  ten  years  old,  II., 
128-129. 

Bloomingdale  Road,  the,  xlvi. 

Boston,  Mrs.  Rowson  acts  in,  xxiv.;  Mrs.  Rowson 
settles  in,  xxv.,  xxxix.;  port  of,  closed,  xliv. 

Boston  Post  Road,  the,  xlvi. 

Boston  Tea  Party,  the,  xliii.;  I.,  114. 

Boston  Weekly  Magazine,  the,  xxvi. 

Bowery,  Charlotte  Temple's  home  in  the,  xliv.,  xlvi.; 
H.,  97- 

Bowling  Green,  Ixxix. 

Braddock,  General  Edward,  Colonel  John  Montre- 
sor  comes  to  America  with,  Ixxi.,  Ixxv. 

Brandywine,  Battle  of  the,  Ixxix. 

Brattleborough,  Vt,  xcviii. 

British  Museum,  the,  xcii. 

Brookfield,  Mass.,  c. 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Ixxix. 

Buckingham,  Joseph  T.,  xcvi. 

Bull's  Head  Tavern,  the,  xlvi. 

Bunker  Hill,  Battle  of,  xliv. 

Burgoyne,  General  John,  xxi.,  Ixxxi.;  the  husband  of 
Charlotte's  aunt,  L,  41. 

Burke,  Sir  Bernard,  his  "  Peerage,"  I.,  41. 

Burney,  Fanny,  Ixvi. 

Burtus,  Samuel  A.,  xcix. 

Carey,  Mathew,  xcvii. 
Catskill,  N.  Y.,  xcviii. 

"Charlotte:  A  Tale  of  Truth,"  original  title  of 
"  Charlotte  Temple,"  xxiii. 

135 


Cbariotte  Uemple 

"Charlotte  Temple,"  why  a  new  edition  of,  vii.-viii.; 
first  American  edition  of,  xxiv.;  the  sequel  to, 
xxvi.,  Ivi.;  its  remarkable  survival,  xxix.;  innu- 
merable editions  of,  xxx.;  where  now  sold,  xxxi., 
cviii.;  corrupted  text  of,  xxxii.-xxxiii.;  condensed 
edition  of,  xxxiv.-xxxv. ;  sensational  cover-title, 
to  face  page  xxxiv.;  as  "A  Tale  of  Truth,"  xl.; 
cause  of  its  success,  Ixiv.-lxix. ;  little  help  for,  from 
advertising  or  reviews,  Ixv.-lxviii.;  one  of  the 
largest-selling  books,  Ixv.;  Mrs.  Rowson  on  the 
origin  of,  I.,  3-5;  bibliography  of,  xci.-cix.  See 
also  Temple,  Charlotte,  and  Stanley,  Charlotte. 

Chatham  Square,  when  Charlotte  Temple  arrived  in 
New  York,  xlv. ;  her  home  in,  xlvi.,  xlvii. ;  an  im- 
possible scene  in,  ciii. 

Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  the,  in  Philadelphia,  xxiii. 

Chichester,  England,  I.,  7,  10,  112. 

"  Children  of  the  Abbey,  The,"  xxix. 

Clark,  Haswell  C.,  xxvii. 

Clark,  Mary,  xxvii. 

Clark,  Rebecca  Haswell,  1.,  lix. 

Clinton,  General  Sir  Henry,  Ixxv.,  Ixxviii. 

Cobbett,  William,  attacks  Mrs.  Rowson,  xxiv.,  Ixvii.; 
Mrs.  Rowson  replies  to,  xliii. 

Colden,  Lieutenant-Governor  Cadwallader,  Ixxvii. 

Collister,  Thomas,  Ivii. 

Columbia  University,  Ixxix. 

Concord,  N.  H.,  xxx.,  xcix. 

Conkey,  — ,  cvi. 

Cook,  Increase  &  Co.,  xcviii. 

Copley,  John  S.,  portrait  by,  Ixxiii. 

Cornish,  L.  &  Co.,  cii. 

Corydon,  — ,  85. 

Cowper,  William,  Ixv.;  L,  117. 

136 


fnfcei 

Crayton,  Colonel,  on  the  ship  with  Charlotte  and 
Montraville,  I.,  118;  his  character,  120-121;  yields 
to  La  Rue's  designs,  121-122;  intends  to  marry 
La  Rue,  126;  introduces  La  Rue  to  his  daughter, 
128-130;  marries  La  Rue,  131;  the  marriage  un- 
happy, II.,  22-23,  83-84. 

Crayton,  Mrs,  a  fashionable  favorite,  II.,  83-85;  Char- 
lotte resolves  to  visit,  94;  a  letter  to,  from  Char- 
lotte, 95;  Charlotte  calls  on,  101;  repulses  Char- 
lotte from  her  door,  102-105;  her  conduct  ac- 
counted for,  107-109;  found  in  London  in  dis- 
tress, 130-131.  See  La  Rue. 

Critical  Review,  the,  Ixviii. 

"  Critique  on  Authors,  A,"  xxiii. 

Crommelin,  William  H.,  inscribed  the  tombstone  in 
Trinity  churchyard,  Ixi.-lxiii. 

"  Cyclopedia  of  American  Literature,"  xxxi. 

Dall,  Caroline  H.,  cv. 
"  David  Harum,"  Ixv. 
Dawson,  Henry  B.,  identifies  the  site  of  Charlotte 

Temple's  home,  xlvi.-xlviii. 
Derby,  Countess  of,  I.,  44. 
Derby,    the    old    Earl    of,    Charlotte's    father    his 

younger  son,  xli.;   I.,  41;  marries   Miss  Weath- 

erby,  44. 

Derby,  the  young  Earl  of,  I.,  41. 
Devonshire,  Duchess  of,  xxi.-xxii. 
Doyers  Street,  II.,  97. 
Du  Pont,  Madame,  I.,  8;  described,  47;  and  Montra- 

ville's   letter,   72;    discovers   Charlotte's    distress, 

91-92;  finds  Charlotte  gone,  98-101. 
Duyckinck,  Evert,  xcix. 
Duyckinck,  E.  A.,  xxxi. 

137 


Gbarlotte  ZTemple 


Eldridge,  George,  and  his  friend  Lewis,  I..  21-27,  28; 
death  of,  31. 

Eldridge,  Lucy,  Charlotte's  mother,  Ivii.;  in  the  Fleet 
Prison,  I.,  16-18,  19;  and  her  brother's  friend, 
Lewis,  I.,  26;  and  her  brother,  28;  supports  her 
father,  34.  See  Temple,  Mrs.  Henry. 

Eldridge,  Mr.,  Charlotte's  grandfather,  Ivii.-lviii.; 
tells  the  story  of  his  misfortunes,  I.,  21-35;  ar~ 
rested  for  debt,  24-25;  his  goods  seized,  32; 
helped  by  Mr.  Temple,  34-37;  calls  at  the  school 
for  Charlotte,  98-102;  learns  of  her  elopement, 
102-105;  returns  to  her  parents,  105-107. 

"  Exercises  in  History,"  xxvi. 

"  Fastest  Girl  in  New  York,  The,"  xxxvi. 

Faversham,  Kent,  England,  Ixxxiv.,  Ixxxvi. 

Federal  Book  Co.,  cvi. 

Federal  Hall,  New  York,  xliv. 

"  Female  Patriot,  The,"  xxiv. 

Fessenden,  Wm.,  xcviii. 

First  Continental  Congress,  the,  xliv. 

Fisher,  civ,  cv. 

Fisher  &  Bros.,  civ. 

Fisher  &  Denison,  civ. 

Flanagan,  C,  ci. 

Fleet  Prison,  the,  of  London,  Ivii.;  I.,  15. 

Fliigel,  J.  S.,  ci. 

Ford,  Gordon  L.,  xcii. 

Ford,  Paul  Leicester,  xcii. 

Ford,  Worthington  C.,  xcii. 

Fort  Duquesne,  Penn.,  Ixxii.,  Ixxv. 

Fort  George,  on  Lake  George,  Ixxi. 

Fourteenth  Royal  Dragoons,  the,  Iviii. 

Franklin  House,  the,  II.,  100. 

138 


fnfcei: 


Franklin  Square,  II.,  n. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  xxv.;  his  autobiography,  xxix. 

Franklin,  Colonel,  Ixxxvi.;  his  tragic  death,  Ixxxix. 

Franklin,  Julia,  Ixxiv.;  an  account  of,  II. ,  n;  how  she 
met  Montraville,  12-14;  Montraville  calls  on,  15; 
his  attentions  to,  40-41,  53-55;  engaged  to  Mon- 
traville, 63;  their  marriage  announced  to  Char- 
lotte, 76-77. 

Franklin,  Lieutenant,  Ixxxvii.-lxxxix. 

Franklin,  Mr.,  II.,  12,  54,  99. 

Fulton,  Robert,  li. 

Funk  &  Wagnalls  Company,  the,  cvii. 

Gage,  General  Thomas,  goes  to  Boston,  xliv., 
Ixxxviii.;  misfortunes  of,  in  Boston,  Ixxxi.;  L, 
114. 

Gallatin,  Albert,  Hi. 

Gentleman's  Magazine,  the,  Ixvii. 

George  III.,  Ixxix. 

George  IV.,  xxii. 

Golden  Hill,  Battle  of,  xlv. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  II.,  94- 

Graupner,  Gotlieb,  xxvii. 

Griffith,  H.  M.,  cii. 

Haldimand,  General  Sir  Frederick,  Ixxv. 

Halifax,  N.  S.,  xxi. 

Halsey,  Francis  W.,  cviii. 

Hamilton,  Alexander,  li. 

Harlem  Heights,  Battle  of,  Ixxix. 

Harrisburg,  Pa.,  xcviii. 

Harrison,  J.,  ci. 

Hartford,  Ct,  xcviii.,  c.,  ci.,  cii. 

Haswell,  Mary,  liv. 

139 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

Haswell,  Montresor,  liii. 

Haswell,  William  (Mrs.  Rowson's  father),  comes  to 
America,  xix.,  xx.;  a  pension  for,  xxii.,  liv. 

Hill,  Isaac,  xcix. 

Hill,  Walton  B.,  xcix. 

Hingham,  Mass.,  xxi. 

Hobbs,  R.  C,  cii. 

Hone,  Philip,  Ixiii.,  Ixiv. 

Howe,  General  Sir  William,  Ixxv.;  his  return  to  Eng- 
land, Ixxvi.;  his  landing  in  Kip's  Bay,  Ixxviii. 

"  H.  S.  B.,"  Hi. 

Hudson,  N.  Y.,  xcviii. 

Hurst  &  Co.,  cv.,  cvi. 

Inchbald,  Elizabeth,  Ixvi. 
Inquisitor,  the,  xxiii. 
Irwin,  Theodore,  cii. 
Ithaca,  N.  Y.,  xxx. 

James,  U.  P.,  ciii. 

"  John  Tripod,"  xxx.    See  Bacon,  John  B. 

Francis,  Dr.  John  W.,  II.,  97. 

Judah,  N.,  ci. 

Judd,  Loomis  &  Co.,  cii. 

Kearney,  General  Philip,  Hi. 

Kelby,  William,  Ixi. 

"  Kick  for  a  Bite,  A,"  xxv. 

Kip's  Bay,  Ixxviii. 

Knapp,  Samuel  L.,  xxvii.,  xc.,  xcv.,  ci. 

Knyphausen,  General,  Ixxxv. 

Lake  Champlain,  Ixxi. 
Lake  Erie,  Ixxi. 

140 


Langdon,  S.  J.,  ci. 

La  Rue,  Mademoiselle,  described,  I.,  47;  tries  to  in- 
fluence Charlotte,  55-61,  74;  urges  her  to  go  with 
Montraville,  86,  92-94;  meets  Colonel  Crayton, 
118-119;  to  marry  Colonel  Crayton,  126-131.  See 
Crayton,  Mrs. 

Lawrence,  Captain  James,  lii. 

Leary  &  Co.,  Wm.  C,  ciii. 

Leavitt  &  Allen,  ciii.,  civ. 

Leavitt  &  Allen  Bros.,  civ. 

Leipzig,  Germany,  ci.,  cii. 

Lewis,  — ,  and  George  Eldridge,  I.,  21;  and  Lucy  El- 
dridge,  26. 

Lexington,  Battle  of,  Ixxviii. 

Lippincott,  J.  B.  &  Co.,  cv. 

Lomax,  John,  ci. 

London,  xxx. 

Loudoun,  General  Lord,  Ixxv. 

Louisbourg,  Siege  of,  Ixxii. 

Lovell,  J.  W.,  cv. 

"Lucy  Temple,"  xxvii.;  an  outline  of,  xxxv.,  Ivi.;  as 
a  transcript  from  real  life,  Ixix.;  Colonel  Frank- 
lin in,  Ixxxvi.,  xc.;  II.,  127. 

Lupton,  F.  M.,  cv. 

Mack,  Andrus  &  Co.,  ciii. 

Mack,  Andrus  &  Woodruff,  cii. 

Marlborough,  Duke  of,  Ixx. 

Marsh,  Richard,  ciii. 

"  Mary;  or,  the  Test  of  Honor,"  xxiii. 

Matthews,  William,  cii. 

McGown's  Pass,  in  New  York,  Ixxix. 

Medford,  Mass.,  xxvi. 

"  Mentoria,"  xxiv. 

141 


Cbarlotte  TTemple 


Mercantile  Library  Association,  the,  xlvii. 

Merrifield,  Preston,  xcix. 

"  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  The,"  xxiv. 

Middleton,  Sir  Charles,  xxii. 

Milner  &  Co.,  cvi. 

"  Miscellaneous  Poems,"  xxvi. 

Mischianze,  the,  Ixxv. 

Monk,  General,  Ixx. 

Monthly  Review,  the,  Ixvii. 

Montraville,  John,  what  is  known  as  to  the  original 
of,  viii.,  xlii.,  xlix.,  liii.,  Ixxiv.;  as  to  Colonel 
Franklin,  Ixxxvi.;  at  Chichester  with  Belcour,  I., 
7;  meets  Charlotte  Temple,  8-12,  50;  his  letter 
to  Charlotte,  61-63;  meets  her  again,  71-73;  his 
character,  74;  pleads  with  Charlotte,  76-77;  his 
family,  79;  admonished  by  his  father  as  to  mar- 
riage, 80-82;  takes  leave  of  his  father,  82;  con- 
cludes he  can  not  marry  Charlotte,  83;  meets 
Charlotte,  83-85;  agrees  to  marry  her,  87;  induces 
her  to  elope  with  him,  95-96;  sails  with  her  for 
America,  112-115;  suppresses  her  letter  to  her 
parents,  114;  talks  with  her  of  La  Rue's  mar- 
riage to  Colonel  Crayton,  127-128;  finds  a  home 
for  her  in  New  York,  II.,  4;  meets  Julia  Frank- 
lin, 12-14;  calls  on  her,  15;  in  love  with  her,  16; 
goes  to  see  Charlotte,  17-18;  writes  to  her,  19; 
Charlotte  writes  about  him  to  her  mother,  36; 
his  attentions  to  Julia  Franklin,  40-41;  visits 
Charlotte,  44-45;  remorseful  as  to  his  treatment 
of  Charlotte,  52-53;  meets  Julia  Franklin,  55-56; 
becomes  engaged  to  her,  63;  writes  a  farewell 
letter  to  Charlotte,  66;  gives  Belcour  money  for 
Charlotte,  68;  his  letter  to  Charlotte  suppressed 
by  Belcour,  70;  Charlotte's  rent  not  paid  by,  91; 

142 


Unfcer 


Charlotte  calls  for,  in  her  last  illness,  109;  return 
of,  to  New  York,  122;  learns  of  Charlotte's  fate 
and  sees  her  buried,  125;  meets  her  father  at  the 
funeral,  125;  kills  Belcour  in  a  duel,  126;  his  melan- 
choly and  his  later  life,  127.  See  Montresor, 
Colonel  John. 

Montresor,  Colonel  James  G.,  Ixx.-lxxi.;  portrait  of, 
facing  Ixx.;  family  of,  I.,  81. 

Montresor,  Colonel  John,  his  map  of  New  York, 
faces  Ixvi.,  Ixvii.;  his  Journals  published,  liv.; 
as  the  original  of  Montraville,  Ixx.;  portrait  of, 
faces  Ixxii.;  his  early  life  in  America,  Ixxii.;  his 
marriage,  Ixxiii.;  his  home  in  New  York,  Ixxiii.; 
Mrs.  Rowson,  his  relative,  Ixxiv.;  and  Julia 
Franklin,  Ixxiv.;  Chief  Engineer  in  America, 
Ixxv.;  maps  and  plans  by,  Ixxvi.;  retires  from 
service,  Ixxvii.;  passages  from  the  diary  of, 
Ixxvii.-lxxxi.;  his  last  days,  Ixxxiii.-lxxxv., 
Ixxxix.;  later  career  of,  resembles  that  of  Colo- 
nel Franklin  in  "Lucy  Temple,"  Ixxxvi.,  xc.; 
suffers  retribution,  Ixxxix.;  his  brother,  L,  81; 
his  last  days,  II.,  127.  See  Montraville,  John. 

Moore,  Sir  Henry,  xlvii. 

More,  Hannah,  Ixvi. 

Munro,  George,  cv.,  cvi. 

Musgrave,  Susannah,  xix. 

Nans,  Cornish  &  Co.,  cii. 

Nans  &  Cornish,  cii. 

Nafis,  N.  C,  cii. 

Nantucket,  Mass.,  xix.,  xx. 

Nason,    Rev.    Elias,   his    memoir   of   Mrs.    Rowson, 

xxviii.;  as  to  the  real  Charlotte  Temple,  xxxi., 

xl.;  as  to  the  tombstone,  1.;  Iviii. 

143 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 


New  Dutch  Church,  the,  Iv. 

New  Haven,  c. 

Newton,  Mass.,  xxvi. 

New  York,  xxx.;   coming  of  Charlotte  Temple  to, 

xlii.-xliii;    English    sentiment    strong    in,    xxx.; 

third  .among   American    cities,   xlv.;    arrival    of 

Charlotte  and  Montraville  in,  I.,  128;  Charlotte's 

father  arrives  in,  II.,  119-121. 
New   York  Evening  Post,  the,  Hi. 
New  York  Historical  Society,  the,  liv.,  Ixi. 
New  York  Public  Library,  the,  xci. 
New  York  Times,  the,  li.,  xcv. 
New  York  Tribune,  the,  Ivi. 
Niagara,  Ixxiii. 

Ogilvie,  J.  S.,  cv.,  cvi. 
Old  Bowery  Theatre,  the,  xlvi. 
Old  Dutch  Church,  the,  Iv. 

"  Old  Tree  House,  The,"  view  of  the  present  build- 
ing on  site  of,  faces  page  xlvii.,  xlviii.;  II.,  97. 
Optimus  Printing  Co.,  the,  cvi. 
Osgood,  Ellen  Haswell,  1. 
Osgood,  Mrs.  Samuel,  xxvii. 
Otis,  James,  xx. 

Pell  Street,  Charlotte's  home  near,  xlvi.-xlviii.;  II., 

97- 

Percy,  Lord,  Ixxviii. 

Perry,  John  B.,  cii. 

"  Peter  Porcupine,"  xxiv. 

Philadelphia,  Mrs.  Rowson  in,  xxiii.,  xxx.;  condensed 
edition  of  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  published  in, 
xxxiv.;  Continental  Congress  meets  in,  xliv. 

Pine  Street,  N.  Y.,  Ixiv. 

144 


flnfcer 


"  Poems  on  Various  Subjects,"  xxiii, 

Pontiac's  Conspiracy,  Ixxiii. 

Poole's  "  Index  to  Periodical  Literature,"  Ixviii.-Ixix. 

Pope,  Alexander,  II.,  28. 

Portland  Place,  London  home  of  Colonel  Montresor,. 

Ixxxiv.,  Ixxxvi.,  Ixxxviii. 
Portsmouth,  England,  I.,  7,  8,  117. 
"  Present  for  Young  Ladies,  A,"  xxvi. 
Putnam,  General  Israel,  Ixxxi. 

Quebec,  Siege  of,  Ixxii. 

Radcliffe,  Mrs.,  Ixvi. 

Randall's  Island,  Colonel  Montresor's  home  on,  in 
New  York,  Ixxiii. 

Ratzen,  Lieutenant  Bernard,  xlvii. 

"  Rebecca,"  a  novel,  xxiii.,  xl. 

"  Reuben  and  Rachael,"  xxvi. 

Richardson  &  Lord,  ci. 

Rider,  R.  D.,  c. 

"  Robinson  Crusoe,"  cvii. 

Rodgers,  Susannah,  xxxvii. 

"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  2. 

Roorbach,  his  "  Bibliotheca  Americana,"  xcv. 

Rowson,  Miss,  xxii. 

Rowson,  family  of,  1. 

Rowson,  Susanna  Haswell,  why  a  new  edition  of  her 
"  Charlotte  Temple,"  vii.-ix.;  portrait  of,  faces 
page  xviii.;  a  sketch  of,  xix.-xxv.;  writes  of  her 
early  life,  xix.-xxi.;  comes  to  America  as  an  ac- 
tress, xxiii.;  attacked  by  William  Cobbett,  xxiv.; 
visits  Charlotte  Temple's  grave,  xxiv.;  plays  she 
wrote,  xxiv.;  settles  in  Massachusetts,  xxvi.; 
memorial  to,  in  Roxbury,  Mass,  xxvii.;  me- 

145 


Cbarlotte  ZTempie 


moirs  of,  xxvii.;  popularity  of  her  "Charlotte 
Temple,"  xxx.-xxxiii.;  first  American  edition  of 
her  "Charlotte  Temple,"  xxxvii.;  her  sentimen- 
tality, xxxviii.-xxxix.;  her  stories  taken  from  real 
life,  xl.;  a  poem  by,  xli.;  where  she  got  the  story 
of  "Charlotte  Temple,"  xlii.;  her  reply  to  Will- 
iam Cobbett,  xliii.;  declares  the  story  to  be  true, 
1.,  liii.;  uses  a  real  name  in  Blakeney,  Iviii.;  her 
fidelity  to  facts,  Ixviii.;  her  leniency  to  Montre- 
sor,  Ixxiii.;  as  to  retribution  for  Montresor,  xc.; 
lines  by,  I.,  41;  II.,  25;  insists  her  story  is  true, 
80;  her  account  of  Montraville's  last  days,  127. 

Rowson,  William,  becomes  an  actor,  xxii.;  comes  to 
America,  xxiii. 

Roxbury,  Mass.,  xxiv. 

Royal  George,  the,  loss  of,  L,  112. 

St.  Eustatia,  II.,  65. 

St.  George's  Church,  N.  Y.,  Iv. 

St.  Leger,  Colonel,  Ixxxii. 

St.  Michael's  Church,  South  Boston,  Mrs.  Rowson 

buried  in,  xxviii. 
St.  Paul's  Church,  N.  Y.,  Iv. 
Sabin,  Joseph,  xcv. 
"  Sarah,"  a  novel,  xxvi. 
"  School  for  Scandal,  The,"  xxiv. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  xxix. 

Scull,  G.  B.,  edits  the  Montresor  Journals,  liv. 
Shirley,  General  William,  Ixxv. 
Sickels,  George  C,  ci. 
Skinner  &  Blanchard,  ciii. 
"  Slaves  in  Algiers,"  xxiv. 
Society  Library,  the,  c. 
South  Boston,  xxvii. 

146 


Infcei 

Spithead,  England,  I.,  112. 

Spooner,  A.,  c. 

Stamp  Act,  the,  xlv. 

"  Standard  of  Liberty,  The,"  xxv. 

Stanley,  Charlotte,  the  elder,  I.,  41. 

Stanley,    Charlotte,    Mrs.    Rowson   visits    grave    of, 

xxiv.;    inscription    to,    on   tombstone,    Ivi.,    Ixii.; 

her  aunt  Charlotte,  I.,  42.    See  Temple,  Charlotte, 

and  " Charlotte  Temple" 
Stanley,  Edward,  Earl  of  Derby,  I.,  42. 
Stanley,  family  of,  xli.,  Ivi. 
Steel,  H.,  xcviii. 
Stephens,  S.  J.,  ci. 
Stirling,  Earl  of,  Hi. 
Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  xxix. 
Swain,  John,  cii. 
"  System  of  Geography,  A,"  xxvi. 

Taft,  Miss  Mary  A.,  an  article  by,  on  "  Charlotte 
Temple,"  li. 

Temple,  Charlotte,  view  of  grave  of,  see  frontispiece; 
Mrs.  Rowson  visits  grave  of,  xxiv.;  so-called 
likeness  of,  xxxiv.,  xxxvi.;  represented  as  a  noted 
courtesan,  xxxvi.;  a  daughter  of  the  Stanley  fam- 
ily, xli.;  by  whom  enticed  away,  xlii.;  New  York 
when  she  arrived  in  it,  xliii.;  her  home  in  Chat- 
ham Square,  xlvi.,  xlviii.;  view  of  the  home,  facing 
page  xlvi.;  her  age,  xlix.;  the  tombstone  of,  in 
Trinity  churchyard,  xlix.,  et  seq.\  disappearance 
of  inscription  plate  on  tombstone  of,  xlix.;  au- 
thenticity of  the  stone,  1.;  popular  belief  in  it, 
li.;  persistent  survival  of  the  story,  Hi.;  failure 
of  the  Montresor  and  Stanley  families  to  deny 
the  story,  liv.;  inscription  on  the  stone,  Ivi.;  her 

147 


Gbarlotte  ZTemple 


mother,  Ivii.;  her  remains  taken  to  England, 
lix.-lx.;  cutting  of  the  present  inscription,  Ixiii.; 
disappearance  of  the  plate,  Ixiii.;  Philip  Hone 
opposes  interference  with  her  grave,  Ixiv.;  a  so- 
called  miniature  of,  Ixxxvii.,  Ixxxviii.;  meets 
Montraville,  L,  8;  an  only  child,  47;  influenced 
by  La  Rue,  49;  meets  Montraville,  50;  regrets 
the  meeting,  55-57;  persuaded  by  La  Rue,  59-62; 
letter  to  from  Montraville,  60-64;  a  birthday 
party  for,  planned,  63-65,  72;  meets  Montraville 
again,  71-73;  persuaded  by  Montraville,  76-77; 
her  want  of  fortune,  82;  continues  to  meet  Mon- 
traville, 85;  hesitates  to  yield,  87;  consents  to  go, 
86;  regrets  her  promise,  89-91;  receives  her 
mother's  letter,  92;  again  resolves  not  to  go, 
94-96;  goes  away  with  Montraville,  97;  her  flight 
discovered,  98-102;  writes  to  Madame  DuPont, 
101-102;  her  parents  learn  of  her  flight,  105-108; 
sails  for  America  with  Montraville,  112-114;  let- 
ter of,  to  her  parents  suppressed  by  Montraville, 
114;  depression  of,  on  the  voyage,  122;  surprise 
of,  that  La  Rue  is  to  marry  Colonel  Crayton, 
127-128;  arrives  in  New  York,  128;  pointed  out 
as  Montraville's  mistress,  130;  realizes  her  for- 
lorn state,  II.,  3-10;  her  home  in  New  York,  4; 
forgotten  by  Montraville,  14-16;  Montraville  vis- 
its, 17;  fears  of,  that  he  will  leave  her,  20;  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  takes  a  house  near,  23-25;  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ  calls  on,  28-34;  writes  to  her  mother, 
34-39;  Belcour  defames,  41-43;  Montraville  vis- 
its, 44;  protests  her  innocence,  45-46;  her  letter 
reaches  her  mother,  59-60;  Montraville  provides 
for,  64;  farewell  letter  to  from  Montraville,  66; 
learns  of  Montraville's  marriage  to  Julia  Frank- 

148 


lin,  71-78;  deserted  by  Belcour,  78;  finds  herself 
in  debt,  87-88;  unable  to  pay  her  rent,  89;  obliged 
to  leave  her  home,  91-93;  resolves  to  go  to  New 
York,  94;  writes  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Crayton,  95-96; 
the  identity  of  her  Chatham  Square  home,  96; 
goes  to  New  York,  98;  calls  on  Mrs.  Crayton, 
101;  repulsed  from  Mrs.  Crayton's  door,  102-105; 
carried  away  by  a  servant  alarmingly  ill,  109-111; 
Mrs.  Beauchamp  comes  to  the  aid  of,  113-114; 
asks  for  a  clergyman,  118;  her  father  arrives  at 
her  death-bed,  119;  her  death,  121. 

Temple,  Henry  (Charlotte's  father),  his  family  and 
character,  I.,  13;  goes  to  the  Fleet  Prison,  15, 
24-25;  helps  Mr.  Eldridge,  34-37;  and  Blakeney, 
36;  his  father's  quarrel  with,  37-39;  his  sister 
Charlotte,  41;  refuses  to  marry  Miss  Wetherbee, 
42;  disowned,  43;  marries  Lucy  Eldridge,  45; 
and  Charlotte's  birthday  party,  63-65,  72;  his 
small  fortune,  85;  hears  of  Charlotte's  elope- 
ment, 119;  thinking  of  Charlotte,  II.,  58;  resolves 
to  go  to  New  York,  61-62;  arrives  to  see  Char- 
lotte die,  119-121;  meets  Montraville  at  her  fu- 
neral, 125-126;  returns  to  England,  128;  goes  to 
London  with  Charlotte's  daughter,  128;  meets 
Mrs.  Crayton  in  distress,  129,  131. 

Temple,  Mrs.  Henry,  plans  birthday  party  for  Char- 
lotte, I.,  63-65,  72;  writes  to  Charlotte,  94;  hears 
of  Charlotte's  elopement,  110-113;  anxious  to 
hear  from  Charlotte,  120-122;  letter  to,  from 
Charlotte,  II.,  35~39,  59-69-  See  Eldridge,  Lucy. 

Temple,  Lucy.    See  Blakeney,  Lucy. 

"Trials  of  the  Human  Heart,"  xix.,  xxv. 

Trinity  Church,  New  York,  authenticity  of  the  Char- 
lotte Temple  tombstone  in  churchyard  of,  viii., 

149 


Cbarlotte  Uemple 

• 

xxxv.;    burning    of,    xlix.;    pilgrimages    to  see 
Charlotte's  tombstone,  li.;  consecration  of,  Ix. 

"  Trip  to  Parnassus,  A,"  xxiv. 

Triibner,  his  "  Bibliographical  Guide,"  xcvi. 

Tucker,  Frances,  Ixxiii.,  II.,  u. 

Tucker,  Thomas,  Ixxiii. 

"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  xxix.,  Ixv.,  xcvi. 

"  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  The,"  cvii. 
"  Victoria,"  a  novel,  xxi.,  xxiii.,  xl. 
"  Volunteer,  The,"  xxiv. 

Wallop,  England,  c. 
Walton  House,  the,  II.,  100. 
Walton,  William,  II.,  100. 
Washington,  George,  xliv.,  Ixxi.,  Ixxv. 
Washington,  Martha,  xxv. 

Weatherby,  Miss,  and  marriage  with  Henry  Tem- 
ple, I.,  40;  described,  41;  marries  the  old  earl, 

43-44- 

Windsor,  Vt.,  xxx.,  xcviii. 

Wolfe,  General  James,  Ixxii.,  Ixxv. 

Wright,  Mabel  Osgood  (Mrs.  Jas.  Osborne),  dedica- 
tion of  this  edition  to,  v.;  designs  monument  to 
Mrs.  Rowson,  xxvii.;  her  copy  of  the  first  edition 
of  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  xxxvii. 


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